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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258296">Between the Moon and the Stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccom/pseuds/maccom'>maccom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Perfect Strangers [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, Character Death, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Flashbacks, Oral Sex, Patch 5.2: Echoes of a Fallen Star Spoilers, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Semi-Public Sex, Switching, The Sorrow of Werlyt Questline (Final Fantasy XIV), Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:55:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccom/pseuds/maccom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hades finds himself confronting old friends and new enemies even as the clock counts down on the Scions' time left on the First. With no sign of their wayward Emissary there is still little rest for the wicked, no matter which shard their problems take them to.</p><p>This is the conclusion of Mother! Part 3 in this series can be skipped, but I would recommend reading the rest in order. </p><p>Takes place during 5.2/5.3.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Perfect Strangers [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prepare for Trouble, Make it Double</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hades stands at the open window in the Pendants, hands tucked in his pockets and his chest bare. He’d been struck by the sudden inspiration to watch the sunrise, and what a dawn it is turning into: after a night of rain the sky seems set to more than compensate for the previous day’s dreariness. Though the room faces west Hades catches the dawn’s colours: navy changing to violet, grey clouds burnished orange, the faintest hint of bight blue. </p><p>It is going to be a beautiful day. </p><p>He sighs contentedly, wiggling his toes in his boots as he rocks back slightly on his heels, and then turns to the coffee he’d left on the table. With sunrises, fresh air, and hot brews to hand, what more could he ask for?</p><p>His gaze slides to the empty bed across the room, the covers still tussled from the night’s sleep. His hero had departed hours earlier, destined for the Source on business he knows not, and he’s only feeling a <em> little </em>bitter about being left behind. As curious as he is he knows she would tell him if it were important; she would tell him if she needed him; she would tell if it were dangerous.</p><p>That last thought makes him pause. He narrows his eyes over the rim of his mug. No, she would <em> not </em> tell him were it dangerous, and that is a sticking point they must discuss. It isn’t that she means to exclude him or that she goes out of her way to keep him out of danger, but after going so long on her own it often doesn’t occur to her to ask for help. The Empty had been the first time she’d done so, but only once it became clear they’d be using magic he knows best. Hades rather doubts she would have called upon him otherwise.</p><p>So if she <em> is </em>doing something dangerous - isn’t she always? He cannot chain her to his side, cannot demand daily updates and progress reports and a detailed list of safety precautions taken, but there is that nagging worry at the back of his mind, that repeating fear that makes him want to follow her and protect her.</p><p>If he should lose her again after only just finding her…</p><p>Hades sips at his coffee, his mood somewhat soured by the roads his thoughts have chosen to wander. He makes a face at the bitterness and allows his shoulders to slump. There were times when loneliness and depression were easier than this, this constant whirl of faces and people and this anxiety that comes from <em> caring </em>- there are so many factors outside of his control, his fate not least of all, and this world is not his own. He cannot nap away his thoughts now, not when they twist and turn his stomach into a coiling anxiety that forces him to his feet. If he doesn’t keep his mind occupied his thoughts return to his Warrior, and the fear of losing her, and what dangers there still exist that could do her harm.</p><p>A rapid rap at the door knocks Hades from his musings. Leaving the mug of lukewarm coffee on the table, he softly moves across the room to open the door.</p><p>Thancred immediately raises an eyebrow as the man’s gaze slides to his bare chest. Hades doesn’t blush, exactly, but he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and displaying the garish scar across his torso could easily be misconstrued as bragging. He crosses his arms over the scar and sighs. </p><p>“I can’t imagine what business you have with me,” he drawls. “Our Warrior has already departed; that is to say, you have missed her completely. I shall send her in your direction when she returns, but thank you for leaving -” He begins to close the door only for the Hyur to slam a palm against the wood, holding it open.</p><p>“I <em> am </em>here for you, actually.” Thancred suddenly grins with what he must believe is his most-winning smile. “Weapons practice.”</p><p>Hades blinks. Still seeing the strange, clearly-crazed gunbreaker outside his door he blinks again. “I must be losing my mind.”</p><p>“Oh, good - you <em> are </em>self-aware! You’re making such good progress.” Thancred pushes harder on the door and Hades relents, allowing the Hyur to force it open even as he jerks his other thumb over his shoulder. “Come on - we’re training on the grounds near the tower.”</p><p>“‘We’?” Hades repeats delicately. </p><p>“Myself, Alisaie, and Ryne - with you, of course.” Thancred tilts his head to one side as he purses his lips. “Come to think of it, you might want to leave the shirt off - I expect we’ll work up a sweat.”</p><p>“What fever dream have I wandered into?” Hades mutters, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “I seem to remember you being present above Amaurot, and in the Empty, and everywhere else my power has been on display. I am a sorcerer, not some brute with a blade.”</p><p>Thancred clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I may look a fool but I know my history, Emperor: you rose through the ranks of the Garlean military. A man cannot do that unless he is fully capable of using the weapons in his hands.”</p><p>Hades narrows his eyes. <em> Those </em>are memories he hadn’t expected to be thrown his way this morning - or ever - but it would seem the Hyur has outplayed him. “So you want me to - what? Lunge and parry against a training dummy for your amusement?”</p><p>“Ah, yes, because being in your presence brings me such joy!” Thancred rolls his eyes but steps away from the door. “You have fifteen minutes, Emperor, before I drag your ass out with the rest of them.”</p><p>There is a moment where Hades considers teleporting to Amaurot - watch Thancred try to drag his ass anywhere when he’s malms under the sea - but what would be the point beyond obstinance? He can claim there is no purpose - that his magic will always serve him best - but he knows better than that. Every tool at his disposal must be ready at hand for any given situation, and though he relies on magic like a crutch that does not mean he is incapable of using other means.</p><p>There is an unexpected truth he is slowly beginning to learn: as he unravels his spool of depression the boredom he had once drawn about himself like a cloak is more a danger to him than anything else. Depression and boredom go hand-in-hand, eager as they are to accompany and embellish each other; yet one without the other makes for states of anxiety that he is not yet fully equipped to deal with.</p><p>“Damn it.” He grabs his shirt from the chair he’d left it on and drags it over his shoulders before leaving the room.</p><p>*</p><p>“Parry it! Now - forward! Stun her! Stun - ah.”</p><p>Hades cannot watch the bout beside him, though he gathers Alisaie has again put Ryne in the dust. He is already locked in combat with the Crystal Exarch, who has donned a glowing shield on his left arm and a glowing sword in his crystal hand, and if the Miqo’te seems docile as a mage he is anything but as a paladin. It has been many long years since Hades last held any kind of blade, but the dark purple sword he’d conjured for himself feels at once comfortable in his grip.</p><p>Or it would, were the Exarch not so determined to knock it from his grasp.</p><p>Sword clashes against sword once, twice, thrice, and while Hades isn’t pressing forward neither is he giving ground. The sounds are somewhat jarring - his ears expect metal on metal, but aetherical blades sound strangely bell-like when whacked against each other - though what irks him most is the knowing smile on the Exarch’s face. Hades is out of practice and it shows, while the Exarch had been brandishing blades with whatever ghost-like entities patrolled the Grand Cosmos just last week. It hardly seems fair for the Miqo’te to take advantage of it. </p><p>Though Hades <em> had </em> once taken advantage of a distracted Miqo’te’s turned back to shoot at said Miqo’te…</p><p>G’raha suddenly rushes forward, leading with his shield. Rather than dodge backwards Hades throws his left hand in front of him; G’raha’s shield clashes against Hades’s magical barrier with a sound like a mallet hitting a gong. Hades grins even as his arm shakes from the effort.</p><p>“Play fair!” Thancred admonishes from the sidelines. “What’s the point in practicing swordwork if -”</p><p>“No need to worry,” G’raha grunts. He somehow manages to sound pleased even with his shield pressed forward. “Like for like, after all.”</p><p>Before Hades can begin to process that strange statement the Exarch pulls back and slams his sword into the ground, sending blue pillars of aether shooting up through the stone. Hades’s shield shatters and he staggers backwards, cringing away from the piercing light and the blade he knows will be swiping sideways - </p><p>“Enough!”</p><p>He vanishes into a voidgate, using the aether to shift himself behind the Exarch, who somehow anticipates the move and spins in a complete circle with his blade out - </p><p>“I said <em> enough</em>!”</p><p>Thancred is suddenly in between them, holding his palms flat against their chests as he pushes them apart. Hades is panting, eyeing down the sweating Exarch over Thancred’s shoulder, and there is a strange urge to keep fighting - to push the Hyur out of the way and lunge - not because he wants to harm the Miqo’te, not at all, but judging by the grin on the Exarch’s flushed face he’s feeling the same rush Hades is.</p><p>“Well done!” G’raha steps back from Thancred and sheaths his sword, holding out his crystal hand in an offer of truce.</p><p>Commonplace as it may be, it is the first normal action any of them have taken with him in public. Hades dispels his aetherical sword and reaches, allowing the Exarch to make the final connection - fearing the Miqo’te will come to his senses and recoil, perhaps, or do as Thancred had once done and pull him forward to make threats - but G’raha is not that type of person. He shakes Hades’s hand with a pleased grin, without even realizing what it means, before stepping aside to speak with Alisaie.</p><p>“So you <em> can </em>hold your own.”</p><p>Hades brushes damp hair off his forehead before meeting the gunbreaker’s gaze. “And whatever shall you do with this information?”</p><p>The grin that slides over the Hyur’s face immediately makes Hades regret asking. “Conjur that sword again and find out.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Are you <em> sunbathing</em>?”</p><p>Hades drags his head off the grass, squinting through the blazing light in an attempt to find the source of his hero’s voice. It is easier than expected: her feet are over his head as she stares directly down at him.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and resting his head back on the ground - where the rest of his body lays, his hands clasped together over his bare chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. “I’m merely having the teensiest of naps.”</p><p>“Uh huh.” A finger prods one of the bruises on his forearm and he grits his teeth, willing himself not to flinch. “Were you fighting with Thancred again?”</p><p>“We were training,” he says. “Or at least that’s the word he gave it.”</p><p>“Thancred roped you into his morning sparring practice?”</p><p>He peeks at her with one eye, unnerved by the giddiness in her voice. “Do you disapprove?”</p><p>“Disapprove? No, not in the least - I’m only considering how best to sell tickets to the next one.”</p><p>Hades snorts. “I doubt very much there is going to be a ‘next one’, hero. He simply wanted to take my measure, much as he would any other new addition.”</p><p>“Hades, Thancred practices <em> every </em>morning. If he forces Alisaie, Ryne, and G’raha to join him I’m pretty sure he’s going to ask the same of you.”</p><p>A burgeoning sense of dread settles in Hades’s chest. He grimaces and waves a hand dismissively. “Would you leave me to my relaxation and allow me the pleasure of believing myself free from such endeavors?”</p><p>“I can actually do one better.” Her tone changes and he opens his eyes; her expression is not the least reassuring. “I have a job for you.”</p><p>*</p><p>He rotates the shot glass in his hand, swirling the amber liquid in slow, relaxing motions. It has been a long, long time since he felt the need for anything more powerful than wine, but after the revelations his Warrior of Light and Darkness dropped on his lap he feels rather justified in his choice of spirits. He’d avoided drinking alone for the past few millennia; after a slew of bad decisions made shortly before the Third Calamity he’d sworn off all forms of alcohol unless social situations required it. Spirits have always amplified his loneliness rather than dampened it, and it seemed far wiser to avoid them completely.</p><p>Now, however, his hero is returned, his life has begun to take on new meaning, and brandy serves as a force to mute the memories of the past rather than drown current sorrows.</p><p>“The Ultima Project…”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> “Gaius will oversee it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He slides down his throne, his ludicrous armour creaking in protest as he rests his chin on his fist. “Gaius? You expect him to champion something capable of destruction on such a scale?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Of course - if he remains unaware of the machine’s true capabilities, what reason will he have to object?” Lahabrea grins under his red mask. “Ultima destroys primals - what else must he know? There is no reason for him to expect the Heart to be there, let alone understand what it is capable of.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And the other weapons?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Lahabrea’s grin widens. “What other weapons, Your Radiance?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He closes his eyes and wishes for patience. The Ultima Project should have been given to Elidibus - should have been given even to one of the Sundered - but they cannot be everywhere at once. Lahabrea had been the one available, and so the task fell to him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But the science behind these newer weapons is a dark and unsettling approach even for their Speaker… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I leave it to you,” he says finally, waving a withered, age-spotted hand in the Ascian’s direction.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I do so appreciate your trust in me.” Lahabrea gives him a mocking bow before vanishing into a voidgate.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Alone in his vast, echoing audience chamber, Emperor Solus covers his face with his hands. </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>He should never have let Lahabrea proceed with his experiments. It had been unseemly even for him, a soul often given to experimentation and pushing the boundaries of knowledge, but Hades had expected the Ultima Weapon to do what was needed. He’d thought the Allagan creation would be enough, and that the other, newer Weapons would have gone unused after the Calamity ensued.</p><p>But with the Calamity averted…</p><p>“I take it our Warrior did not have good news.”</p><p>Hades glances up as Thancred slides into the seat across from him. He isn’t sure if he’s glad to see the Hyur or if he simply needs someone to complain to, but it opens the dam on his train of thought.</p><p>“How did you not chain her up?” Hades growls, looking back into his shot glass. “Every time she walked out the door - how did you not demand to go with her? Or insist that she not leave alone?”</p><p>Thancred snorts. “Have you tried? No - wait - please don’t answer that.” He shifts sideways and throws his feet up on the chair to the side of the table, slinging one arm across the back of his own chair as he leans back. “She’s scared you before this.”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Hades says bitterly. “Even before the Final Days she would rarely ask for help from the Convocation. She’d find whoever she could - ‘those who knew the situation best’ - and I’d only hear about whatever dangerous foe she’d faced when she came home bruised and sore. But this - <em> this </em>-” </p><p>“A difference of magnitude?”</p><p>“The weight of responsibility.” </p><p>Thancred narrows his eyes. “Ah. What has Emperor Solus left behind for us hapless mortals to fix?”</p><p>“Emperor Solus had little part in this latest problem - it was Lahabrea’s brainchild, not mine.”</p><p>The Hyur goes so, so still. Minutes pass before he throws an arm up, gesturing to the Wandering Stairs’ barkeep. “Another of what he’s drinking, please! Make it a double!”</p><p>“This <em> is </em>a double,” Hades murmurs, taking another sip.</p><p>“If that bastard left something behind that is so dangerous it worries even <em> you</em>, it is our prerogative to annihilate it.” Thancred shifts his boots from the chair to the floor, leaning forward as he meets Hades’s gaze. “What does she need? How can we help?”</p><p>“<em>You </em> can do nothing,” Hades says, waving his glass in the Hyur’s direction. “This problem is limited entirely to the Source, and at the present time that is beyond your capabilities. She came to me for help.”</p><p>“Then you give it to her.” Thancred’s serious expression disappears as the barkeep brings him his drink; he gives her a winning smile as he tips her and wishes her well, but the moment her back is turned his expression reverts to its grim scowl. He downs the shot in one gulp. “Whatever she needs, Ascian, you give it to her.”</p><p>Hades closes his eyes. No matter how determined he is to do things right - to fix or remove the errors of his past - this latest request requires a level of commitment she has not yet asked of him. To be on the Source without her - to work with allies he has, in the past, conspired against - is as unexpected as it is worrying.</p><p>He cannot help but fear the memories this venture may awaken.</p><p>“It seems I will be unable to assist you with Eden,” Hades says after a moment. He opens his eyes to meet the Hyur’s stare. “Take care of her while I’m gone.”</p><p>“Chain her to the Crystarium, you mean?”</p><p>Hades knocks back the last of his drink. “We both know nothing in this world could hold her.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Doubles and triples for this Ascian only, please.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Good Imperial is Hard to Find</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Spoilers for the Sorrow of Werlyt start here!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lightning sparks across a deep purple sky, followed a few breaths later by a <em> boom </em>that echoes all around them. The constant low rumble of distant thunder creates an ominous backdrop to a gloomy Eorzean outpost. The air is damp with humidity; Hades’s shirt sticks to his back as he follows along behind the Warrior. He keeps his head down and his shoulders hunched, but oh, does he stare.</p>
<p>The outpost leading to the Ghimlyt Dark is the last bastion before they hit the trenches: a high fence blocks the sight of it, but Hades has stood on battlefields before. He knows what the land will look like once he leaves these walls - he knows what kind of ruin and destruction awaits them on the other side. That no small part of that destruction was caused by the woman who claims his heart, well - </p>
<p>He walks a strange, thin line between anxiety and arousal.</p>
<p>“Jessie!” The Warrior waves to a brown-haired Hyur wearing Ironworks blue-and-white. “Have you seen Cid?”</p>
<p>“He’s on his way back,” the Midlander replies, her fingers skimming over a datapad in her hands even as she gives them both a quick smile. Her eyes linger on Hades’s third eye - as mortal eyes are wont to do - but apparently the company he keeps saves him from the usual round of questions. “I’m sure he won’t mind if you wait for him inside his tent.”</p>
<p>“Cid’s <em> camping</em>?” </p>
<p>“Desperate times,” Jessie says with a grin. “I’ll send him your way when he arrives. Ah - I assume your guest has proper clearance?”</p>
<p>“Cid requested him,” the Warrior replies as she begins walking towards the largest tent in the encampment. “Thank you!”</p>
<p>“Requested?” Hades repeats quietly as they leave the engineer behind. “By name?”</p>
<p>His hero’s dark eyes slide to him. “Not specifically. He asked if I’d happened to come across any Allagan scholars as notable as G’raha had been, and I immediately thought of you.”</p>
<p>Hades mutters darkly under his breath as he ducks under the low grey tent she leads him into. A scattering of mechanical bits and piles of paper and vellum clutter the space, barely leaving any room for the narrow cot pushed against one side, but as the leader of the Ironworks it seems Cid was at least granted a tent large enough for guests. Three simple stools rest against the side of the tent opposite the cot; piles of gadgets and wires and gears cover them. They move the bits and bobs to the floor to perch on the stools, looking rather like parents sitting on children’s chairs.</p>
<p>“Hero,” Hades says quietly. “Are you telling me Cid Garlond - President of the Ironworks and infamous Garlean defector - has no idea who your ‘Allagan scholar’ of choice is?” She gives him a shaky grin that immediately makes him cradle his head in his hands. Dealing with the Elezen in Ishgard had been easy enough, but Cid Garlond was raised an Imperial: he will recognize the face of the young Emperor Solus. “I’m going to be shot on sight.”</p>
<p>“Not by Cid,” she says, which lessens his worry not in the least. “If I told him who was coming he wouldn’t believe me. Who - and what - you are is difficult to describe without having you there as proof.”</p>
<p>“And you thought having him walk into his tent to see <em> me </em>sitting by his bedside was a better alternative than attempting to convince him in advance?”</p>
<p>She sighs as she runs her fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her eyes as she makes a face. She looks exhausted, and as grateful as he is that he is not the cause of the dark circles under eyes he is not sure he can be the solution, either. With the Scions trapped - and weakening - on the First, Elidibus wandering the shards, and this new threat from the Empire, there are more issues at play than any of them have time for on their own.</p>
<p>“I apologize,” he says quietly, reaching between them to slide his hand into hers. “I know this isn’t easy no matter which path we take, and it is unfair of me to expect you to pre-emptively solve my problems. This caught me unaware.”</p>
<p>She suddenly grins, her teeth brilliantly white in the gloomy tent. “Consider yourself and Cid on even ground!”</p>
<p>“I’m on what type of ground now?” A hand throws back the tent flap, revealing a short - for an Imperial - man with a shock of white hair. Goggles hide the third eye Hades knows is there; the face is older, yes, but still recognizable as the young man he’d once met.</p>
<p>Both he and his hero rise as Cid Garlond steps into the tent; he hangs back, not wanting to crowd the man, as the Warrior steps forward. “Cid! You asked for an Allagan historian, and I’ve brought you one!”</p>
<p>The engineer gives Hades a once-over, starting from his boots and ending, predictably, at his forehead. “An Imperial?” He frowns, causing heavy lines to crease his forehead, and takes a step closer. “Wait -”</p>
<p>The tent flap pulls back again and a taller, dark-haired man peeks inside, his sombre face quickly scanning the room. “Jessie mentioned the Warrior of Light has returned -”</p>
<p>Hades feels the breath leave his lungs as he unconsciously gives voice to the man’s name. “Gaius.” </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> “Welcome, Gaius.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The dark-haired man below him drops to one knee, his helmet grasped in his hands as he stares resolutely at the floor beneath his feet. “Your Radiance.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “News of your exploits in the south have reached my ears.” Solus allows his gaze to dart to the company of officers gathered behind the Tribunus Angusticlavius; all are masked and armoured as they stand in rows facing the throne. They wait in perfect formation, barely moving and silent; they may as well have been statues. “It is rare to find one so dedicated to our cause at such an age.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Our cause is just,” the young gunbreaker says. “I only aim to follow your example, Your Radiance.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Ah, but you could do so much more,” Solus murmurs. The man’s head snaps up, confusion and surprise obvious on his brown skin, and then he remembers his place and ducks his head. Solus raises his voice. “Gaius sas Baelsar - for years of exemplary leadership and tactical prowess, I hereby offer you the role of Legatus of the newly-formed XIVth Legion. Do you accept?” </em>
</p>
<p><em> Emotions shake through the man’s shoulders. He would have been briefed before arriving as to the cause for his summoning, but it is one thing to suspect such an offer and another to hear it voiced aloud. Solus allows himself a small, pleased smile - of all the men and women to rise through the ranks of his empire this is one of the few who has truly outshone the rest without resorting to bribery and blackmail. A good man - a good </em> <b> <em>Imperial </em> </b> <em> - with many allies and few friends, the young Baelsar would be a pivotal tool in his ever-expanding kit. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “I accept.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Solus claps his hands together as he rises, taking a few steps down his dias towards the young man. “Then rise, Gaius van Baelsar, and look to the officers under your command.” He guides the man to his feet and turns him to the officers, who immediately begin to clap. “Together you shall conquer Eorzea.” </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Oh, dear.”</p>
<p>The dark-haired Imperial has drawn his gunblade and pointed it at Hades’s chest before the words leave his mouth. He stares down the barrel, thinking back to a not-so-distant past where he’d done the same with Thancred on the other end - but he has the feeling this gunbreaker will not be so lenient.</p>
<p>“I know of only one evil that causes the dead to walk,” Gaius growls. “It is a plague I swore to eradicate the day I crawled free of Lahabrea’s shackles.”</p>
<p>“Baelsar…” Cid looks back and forth between Hades and the Warrior of Light, his frown deepening. “Let the ghoul speak.”</p>
<p>“<em>Ghoul</em>?” Hades chokes. </p>
<p>“He is here by my leave,” his hero interjects. “By my invitation, no less! I recognize both your feelings towards his kind are negative, but if you harm him I’m going to be less than pleased.”</p>
<p>“I think you’ve the gift of understatement,” Cid mutters as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Put the weapon away, Baelsar. I’m not about to condone a war crime.”</p>
<p>“As if he has not committed many of the same,” Gaius snarls, but he lowers his weapon. Hades notes he does not sheath it, but little steps are a fine place to start. “What is the meaning of this? I see before me a form that may as well have stepped out of a textbook or painting: none other than the young Emperor Solus in the flesh!”</p>
<p>Cid curses and turns away, muttering at the ground before suddenly rounding on the Warrior. “I trust you - gods know I do - so I’m not going to start yelling, but if I don’t hear an explanation soon my hospitality is going to thin.”</p>
<p>Hades rubs his forehead. He had not necessarily believed this day would be easy, but it has suddenly become far more complicated than he prepared for. “May everyone but Gaius please leave?”</p>
<p>“Hades, are you really sure -”</p>
<p>“Are you kicking me out of my own fucking -”</p>
<p>He holds up a hand and both of them fall silent. The Warrior’s expression tumbles through confusion, worry, and just a touch of anger before she nods, turning her frown towards the engineer. </p>
<p>“Come on,” she says quietly. “It looks like you have the honour of hearing from me personally about my adventures on the First.”</p>
<p>“Can’t say I’m not curious,” Cid mutters before following her out. </p>
<p>The tent flap falls shut and Hades stays quiet. Standing across from Gaius reminds him they have always been near the same height; how many times had they stood across from each other just like this? Rank and protocol had always put them at odds, of course, but under the veneer of royalty they had been close companions.</p>
<p>Not friends - never would he have been so foolish - but they had been through enough together that Hades feels a strange sort of guilt at seeing him again.</p>
<p>This will not go well.</p>
<p>“I assume you are an Ascian,” the man says shortly. “To possess a body so.”</p>
<p>Hades cringes and rubs the back of his head. To deliver the bad news in bits and pieces, or to rid himself of every falsehood in one go? “About the Ascian business…” He sighs. What has he to lose? “I am Solus, and I am an Ascian. I was always an Ascian.”</p>
<p>The man’s face turns white. “No. I refuse to believe it.”</p>
<p>“What - that I am an Ascian, or that I was Solus?” He holds out a hand, allowing dark aether to curl around his fingers, before dropping it to his side. The next bit of convincing will hurt, but he can think of nothing else to say. “You never loved Livia - not like she loved you.”</p>
<p>Gaius suddenly sits on Cid’s cot, his arms hanging limply between his legs. “You - you were - you must -” He stops, breathing hard, before he tries again. “Emet-Selch - the one we could never find, the last of the prime Ascians.”</p>
<p>“One of the Unsundered,” Hades confirms. With the hope that tearing through the worst of it will at least put the painful parts behind them, he forges on. “I created Garlemald to assist us in bringing about new Rejoinings - you would know them as Calamities.”</p>
<p>The man drops his weapon and covers his face with his hands. Hades grits his teeth and looks away, wishing there was something he could say to repair the damage done - but how does one justify a lifetime in service to a lie? Gaius had been manipulated for most of his adult life - </p>
<p>But hadn’t Hades, too, given his life in service to another whose promise amounted to nothing?</p>
<p>“You still fight for Garlemald,” Hades comments, hoping to draw the man back to a point he can justify. “For its people.”</p>
<p>“Explain to me why you are here, conversing with our Warrior of Light, wearing a body decades too young - explain to me why she forced me to stay my hand.” Gaius has the look of a man desperately needing a drink - or a hefty rationalization - but at least he meets Hades’s eyes. “Explain to me why I shouldn’t put a bullet through your brain this very moment.”</p>
<p>Hades swallows his clever comment - not the time; there has never been a worse time - and grimaces. “I am in service to the Warrior of Light. She spared my life - and healed my tempering - and so my every action is for her benefit or at her order.”</p>
<p>“Tempering?” Gains repeats. “But that would mean - to an eikon?”</p>
<p>The temptation to just nod and let the issue pass is a mighty one, but he knows he owes this man more than that. “Zodiark does not temper his followers as the beastmen’s eikons are wont to do. I retained my rationality, though I lacked the free will to choose my path. Whether you consider me complicit or coerced, I only once attempted to thwart the chains that bound me.” And that complicated endeavor had ended with him sobbing in bed, his hero straddling his chest as she healed the damage he had done to himself. He had not tried again. </p>
<p>“When van Darnus suggested Project Meteor I always thought it odd you allowed it to happen,” Gaius murmurs as he stares at his calloused palms. “The destruction would render Eorzea inhabitable - would kill <em> millions</em>, when subjugation has always been our way. I thought - I thought age, perhaps, had muddled your understanding or allowed Nael to cloud your thinking.” His dark eyes snap to Hades. “Was Meteor Nael’s idea?”</p>
<p>“No,” Hades whispers. </p>
<p>Gaius suddenly rises, grabbing one of the many trinkets nearby, and throws it hard into the back of the tent. A kick sends a stack of papers flying through the air, scattering around them both like ashes, and in the midst of the flurry Gaius grabs two handfuls of Hades’s shirt and pulls him forward. “And the Ultima Project? Did you - were you - was Lahabrea -”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Hades expects the man to hit him - were their places exchanged he no doubt would do the same - but Gaius stumbles backwards instead. There is a moment where he appears to aim for the exit, but he halts in front of it, drawing in ragged, shaky breaths with his back to Hades. </p>
<p>“Are you going to kill Elidibus?”</p>
<p>“I -” Hades looks to the ground, to the papers and odd magitek bits around his feet, and knows his hesitation speaks for him. “The Warrior -”</p>
<p>“I did not ask about the Warrior of Light’s intentions,” Gaius snarls. “Are you or are you not here to kill Elidibus?”</p>
<p>A lie would be easy. A lie would make this go away, would let Gaius leave feeling justified, would put them on track to some kind of - if not reconciliation - understanding at the least. One simple, little lie - </p>
<p>“I’m here to help,” Hades says quietly, swallowing all of his falsehoods as he digs his own grave. He is the good guy, isn’t he? Destined to tell truths and die upholding someone’s honour, like fools usually do. “I’m here to assist in whatever way I can.”</p>
<p>“You are fifteen years too late.” Gaius leaves without looking back.</p>
<p>Hades slowly sits on his little stool, resting his elbows on his knees as he stretches his arms out in front of him. He’d always known restitution would hurt - he’d known from the very first time she offered it to him, when she’d stood in front of him with the bruises of their last battle still mottling her skin - but this pain is not centered on him. What he had done to Gaius - what he had allowed others to do to the Empire’s Black Wolf - is unforgivable, unrepairable, unconscionable; he cannot imagine a world in which he will ever repay the man for what has been taken from him.</p>
<p>“Hades?”</p>
<p>He grunts noncommittally. The Warrior steps carefully through the scattered clutter to kneel in front of him, resting her hands on his forearms as she anxiously watches his face. Knowing she wants an explanation, Hades shakes his head. He is not ready for words just yet.</p>
<p>“I didn’t expect Gaius to be here,” she says quietly. “I would have warned both of you had I known.”</p>
<p>“A warning would have given him time to aim,” Hades replies dryly. He makes a half-hearted attempt at a smile, which only serves to deepen her frown, before shrugging listlessly. “I assume we are to work together? That he is here to provide Cid aid and intel?”</p>
<p>“No. Gaius made this request of us, and Cid and I are the ones coming to his aid. You know of Gaius’s adoptive children?”</p>
<p>He frowns. The memory is fuzzy - as though he had known more details at some point in his life - but if Gaius had ever mentioned their names or why he’d adopted them that knowledge is gone. “I know they exist, but little else.”</p>
<p>“You know how they intend to pilot these new Weapons?”</p>
<p>Hades’s blood runs cold. Gods, does he know - he wishes he was oblivious but Lahabrea had kept him informed, had made sure he knew all of the details of every sadistic experiment conducted. And why does she mention it now? What do Gaius’s orphans have to do with the new Weapons? Nothing - <em> nothing</em>! He pulls away from her and rises, promptly whacking the top of his head against the lowest tent pole, but he cannot withstand such a tiny space - he needs fresh air, room to breath, room to think -</p>
<p>Cid stands on the other side of the tent, thoroughly drenched by pouring rain.</p>
<p>One hand on the pulsing bump on his head, Hades grimaces at the engineer. Within seconds he, too, looks like nothing more than a drowned rat, but he dares not move past the man. He hears his hero follow him, cursing about the rain, but she stops behind him upon seeing who waits for them.</p>
<p>Cid crosses his arms over his chest. While there is no obvious hostility in his expression it is still one of deep mistrust and disapproval, made even more intimidating by how completely he ignores the rain streaming over his face. “I can’t say I know much about ancient worlds and parts of souls and the business of tempering. Can’t say I know much about people, come to think of it, but our Warrior vouches for you.” He takes a step forward, raising his chin to still look Hades straight in the eyes. “I’ve fought against the Empire and I’ve fought against Ascians, and I’ve lost family and friends to both. By my count you’re on your last warning, and I’m not usually one to give more than three chances.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t expect you to.”</p>
<p>Cid holds up a finger. “One chance. Don’t test me.” His gaze slides to the Warrior. “You’ll be staying the night?”</p>
<p>“Just the one - G’raha still needs my help on the First.”</p>
<p>“Fine.” The engineer points at both of them. “Separate tents. On opposite sides of the bloody camp. Just because I know about this travesty does not mean we’re forcing it down Gaius’s gullet, too.”</p>
<p>“Fair,” the Warrior mutters, but Cid has already brushed past them into his tent. She sighs heavily and takes Hades’s hand. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.”</p>
<p>“You brought me here so you can focus on the First,” he reminds her gently. “Nothing has changed in that regard.” He shifts a lock of soaked hair from her forehead -</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> Lakeland. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Rain. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Her back against the base of the tower, her skirts bunched around her hips, her thighs around his back and her eyes - those dark, hungry eyes -  </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“You didn’t tell Gaius about us, did you?”</p>
<p>He forces himself back from that memory and those feelings, dragging his attention to the here and now: the Alliance Headquarters in the Lochs, standing ankle-deep in muck in the middle of a thundering downpour, with at least one enemy nearby and a drenched Warrior of Light and Darkness in front of him. “No, I did not give the man any more fuel for his hatred.”</p>
<p>“He will find out eventually.”</p>
<p>“And we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He doesn’t want to think about his former Legatus’s reaction to <em> that </em>piece of information; it is a mercy Cid was told out of earshot. As annoying as it may be to have his private life detailed for all to know, it is a price he is more than willing to pay to be with her. “I wish you’d told me earlier about his children.”</p>
<p>Her brow furrows. “They are not <em> children, </em>Hades.”</p>
<p>“Not to the public, no, but to a parent a child is always a child.” He sees the flare of hurt in her eyes and forges past it. “Whatever Ultima Weapon was to Gaius, this new project has become personal in a way he no doubt feels responsible for. That he himself was tricked into greenlighting the project will make it no easier - and now he faces me, the trickster-in-chief, and his problems are only amplified.”</p>
<p>“Do not pity him,” she says. Her dark eyes are unusually hard. “He committed atrocities across the breadth of Eorzea. He orchestrated the fall of Ala Mhigo and would have continued west if given the chance.”</p>
<p>“You forget who gave him his orders,” he murmurs, moving a step closer to her. It’s a hammer against his heart but it is not something he can deny, not something he can shirk away from. He lifts her chin with one knuckle, watching the anger in her eyes soften to something far more complicated. “I empathize with him, but I do so while understanding that you and he would have stood as enemies no matter who commanded him.”</p>
<p>“As you and I stood as enemies,” she says quietly, and if her low voice thrums across his abdomen he ignores the butterflies it gives him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hades.”</p>
<p>“Sleep well, hero.” He bends to gently kiss her lips before stepping back; he watches her squelch across the mud with the beginnings of a smile - </p>
<p>A Duskwight watches him. There is a momentary flash of anger, quelled by the realization that <em> of course </em> others would watch such a rare interaction with their fabled Warrior of Light, and Hades gives the Elezen a flippant wave before turning on his heel to find his sodden tent.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I intended to post this yesterday but I live in Diadem now, so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
<p>Playing through Werlyt the first time I was all "wtf" at my character getting so angry every time she saw Gaius. Like yes, man bad, but be civilized please, dear? Now that I've actually researched Gaius's story I am totally on the "grit teeth and make a fist every time I see him" train. Man VERY bad.<br/>(The hypocrisy of calling Gaius "a bad man" while I write a smutty redemption arc for an Ascian is not lost on me...)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tinkerer, Sorcerer, Soldier, Spy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning comes with fog and clouds the colour of steel. As humid as the previous night had been, this day brings an unwelcome chill that has everyone bundled in blankets and layers of clothing. Some glorious soul had made coffee, which Hades had gratefully helped himself to while the Warrior found herself a cup of tea. They now gather in the barely-sheltered area that seems to be designated for important talks: a collection of chairs around a large, low table, all underneath a canopy sagging with the weight of the evening’s rain. The ground is still bog-like; upon sitting in his wooden chair Hades discovers he’s sunk almost two ilms into the mud.</p><p>“I am beginning to consider myself spoiled,” he mutters, shifting his weight as the chair digs in another half-ilm. “The Empty is positively delightful in comparison.”</p><p>His hero rolls her eyes as she dips her tea bag into her cup. Her boots are splattered with muck almost to her knees but if the cold and damp bother her she gives no sign.</p><p>Cid and Jessie stand over the low table near the back of the canopy, arguing quietly over the placement of a variety of markers that had blown off the table during the night. A drenched map clings to the wooden tabletop like cloth to skin, its colours vibrant even as the darker inks begin to run. </p><p>“Good morning!” A chipper-looking Roegadyn takes a seat on the other side of the Warrior, followed by a dark-haired Lalafell. Both wear dark goggles over their eyes and the customary Ironworks blue-and-white uniforms. “Great to see you’re back unharmed!”</p><p>“It’s only temporary,” his hero says, using a spoon to press her teabag against the side of her cup before gently setting it aside. “I’m merely here to make sure Hades knows what he’s doing.”</p><p>“As if I’ve never spoken with strangers before,” he grumbles, though he plasters on a smile as the two Ironworks employees look at him. Though he cannot see their eyes, it is remarkably obvious how quickly their focus shifts to his forehead. Turning away with a weary sigh, he sips from his mug and considers the implications of asking Cid for his own pair of those damn goggles.</p><p>“I can’t bloody remember,” Cid mutters, throwing his hands in the air. “Let’s say they have five garrisons in Terncliff and leave it at that. I’ll check the reports later.” Scowling, he turns his attention to the quartet in front of him. “Has our Warrior apprised you of the situation?”</p><p>“Briefly,” Hades admits. He crosses his legs and rests his mug on his knee, wrapping both hands around the warm clay. “The Ultima Project’s new Weapons are being unleashed against Ala Mhigo in a bid to regain the city and surrounding land. Our ever-talented hero has already dispatched one of them, but the process was unpleasant for all involved. You requested an Allagan researcher, hoping someone might have some knowledge of something similar to Omega to help you deal with this.” Hades brushes his hair away from his forehead - where it promptly falls right back into place. He makes a mental note to take sheers to it before refocusing on Garlond. “The Ultima Weapon was similar to Omega, and look what happened there - are you really so sure you want to play with more Allagan relics?”</p><p>“I’m a researcher!” Cid throws his arms wide. “The world is my sandbox! And better I play with relics than the Imperials, eh? They know enough as it is - no thanks to you, I suppose.”</p><p>“No thanks to me indeed,” Hades repeats quietly. Whether or not he deserves the scorn, he can see this becoming tiring. “And so we turn our search to <em> new </em>relics, hmm?”</p><p>“I considered using the tower -”</p><p>“No, chief!” The Lalafell interrupts Cid with a quick shake of his head. “If we mess up the timeline -”</p><p>“The First disappears and everyone dies, I know, I know.” Cid makes a face before returning his attention to Hades. “So, my newfound Ascian ally, what have you got for me?”</p><p>Hades throws back his head, allowing it to rest on the back of his chair as he blinks up at the sagging canopy above them. What does he have? What knowledge lies buried in his millenia of experience that can combat the Empire’s Weapons - knowledge that will inevitably save his hero’s life?</p><p>“Are you looking for tech, beast, or spell?”</p><p>“Any and all,” Cid barks. “I work best with tech but I’m not going to say no to whatever else you can get me. I would prefer not to annihilate all of Ilsabard while we’re using it, but -”</p><p>“As would I,” Hades interjects, still staring at the cloth above him. It is a strange mental exercise to work through: Allagan history is ancient history even to him. It has been five millenia since Allag fell: what little he remembers is scattered and almost dream-like. To complicate matters further he can hardly remember which Allagan sites still exist, which have been tampered with, and which were destroyed. “I assume you have records I could peruse?”</p><p>“Of course.” He nods to Jessie, who swipes at something on her datapad. “Much as it goes against my instincts to give anything to one of your kind, I will readily admit we are out of our element on this one.”</p><p>“If I know anything about the Ironworks I know you are more than capable of solving this without me.”</p><p>Cid snorts. “Compliments from an Imperial Ascian! My absolute favourite.” He turns to the Warrior, who has watched the entire exchange with a bemused expression, and shrugs. “I don’t expect we’ll have much use for you for a few days yet. If you’re content to leave your friend behind we will make good use of him.”</p><p>“Promise me I’ll get him back.”</p><p>Her tone is so serious Hades raises his head off the chair to stare at her. The Ironworks employees are also caught off-guard, glancing between their hero and their president with varying degrees of alarm. </p><p>“I promise,” Cid says, his tone as serious as the Warrior’s had been, before he suddenly scoffs. “You don’t really think I’d lock him in an Allagan ruin, do you?”</p><p>“I don’t think you would do that, no.” Though there is little inflection in her tone she still makes it obvious who she believes would be motivated to go to such extremes. She stands, only wobbling a little in the sticky, clogging mud, and nods to each of the engineers in turn before turning her gaze to Hades. “Be good.”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> “Be good, won’t you?” Her fingers flick towards the floor under the kitchen table. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He arches an eyebrow, but her attention remains on her breakfast and morning paper. Slowly he moves beside her chair, watching for any reaction, but rather than look at him she drops her fork to lift the underside of the tablecloth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s going to be late. Work awaits, and he has meetings from the get-go, and he’d promised to walk with Hythlodaeus on the way -  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emet-Selch drops to his knees and slides under the table. Her robes are already hiked past her waist and her legs parted, wide and welcoming and ready for him, and he wraps his arms under her thighs and around her ass to pull her closer to the edge of the chair. She makes the smallest noise of surprise - just once - and then he leans in to give her a kiss. </em>
</p><p><em> Initially his temptation had urged him to rush through this - work is still waiting - but how can he rush </em> <b> <em>her</em></b><em>? Her taste, her feel, her domination? Leaving kisses up and down her folds, bites on her inner thighs, hot breaths against her skin - feeling her thighs shiver around his head, her hips tense - knowing her toes are curling in mid-air -  </em></p><p>
  <em> The first lick has her shuddering. It’s a long, slow lick, bottom to top, and after planting a lingering kiss against her pearl he does it again, a touch more forceful, beginning to delve -  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her fingers curl through the hair just over his ear, and his stomach flutters at that touch. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Azem! My dear - have you seen our handsome friend of late?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her knees hit the table with a <strong>bang</strong>, rattling the glasses and cutlery on the table surface even as Hythlodaeus steps into their kitchen, but Emet-Selch only grips her harder, licks faster, presses in closer. Her fingers tighten and knot within his hair - she’s not asking him to stop, no, never. </em>
</p><p><em> “Must you always drop in unannounced?” She sounds </em> <b> <em>normal</em></b><em>, somehow; contained and calm and on the verge of laughter. “One day you are likely to find us in a state of undress!” </em></p><p>
  <em> “What makes you think that hasn’t been my plan all along?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She laughs at that, laughs and gently rolls her hips, lightly grinding against Emet-Selch’s tongue even as she putters through smalltalk with Hythlodaeus. He isn’t sure what his poor friend would do were he to see below the table, but Emet-Selch’s brain has moved far beyond caring. His cock’s stiff between his thighs, tenting his dark robes even as he leans forward to press closer to her. Her hand leaves his hair and he hears her take up her knife and fork yet again, keeping up the pantomime of a lonely, solo breakfast even as he eats his fill of her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m half-tempted to wait right here,” Hythlodaeus says. “To invite me on a morning walk and then leave without me - !” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m sure he’s simply - gone to find you drinks.” The pause is barely noticeable, barely there, not at all revealing. Her heels wrap around Emet-Selch’s back. “You might catch him as he returns?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Are you alright, my dear? Your skin is awfully flushed.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, yes, of course!” Her breath catches as Emet-Selch flutters his tongue from side-to-side before slowly - gently - repeatedly flicking her clit. “You know I love my morning exercise!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You detest mornings, dearest -” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It is a - a new resolution!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is Emet-Selch joining you in this morning exercise?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “On - on occasion.” She has begun to shiver, shifting her hips almost constantly as he continues his ministrations. His hands are under the back of her robes, pressing hard against soft, warm skin, and as badly as he wants to play between her thighs he knows she is too far gone for that. He dials back to small kisses and little licks only to feel her thighs tighten around his head like a vice. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well, if he isn’t here I might as well make an attempt to catch up to him.” Hythlodaeus sounds amused, rather than exasperated. “Enjoy your waffles, dearest.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Close the door on your way out!” she calls, and Emet-Selch just barely hears his friend’s laughter before their front door slams shut. </em>
</p><p><em> Her hands are suddenly on his head, pressing him closer, further, </em> <b> <em>deeper</em></b><em>; her hips are bucking against his face even as he begins to work in earnest. </em></p><p>
  <em> “That tongue,” she moans. “Oh, yes, finish it!” </em>
</p><p><b> <em>Now </em> </b> <em> he takes one hand off her back, unraveling from around her thigh to sneak his fingers below his chin. One - two - three - she’s wet enough, dripping onto him and the chair; three fingers slide inside with little resistance, delving into that warmth even as he sucks at the skin just above it. Her back arches as her hands roam over his head, messing his pale hair this way and that, and as her moans rise in volume her thighs tighten - tighten - </em> <b> <em>tighten </em> </b> <em> -  </em></p><p><em> It’s a pain he can endure - he can </em> <b> <em>love </em> </b> <em> - and as she crests under his mouth and hands he moves with her, drinking her down even as she shakes in her chair, as her knees slam against the table, as she calls his name - as the kitchen fills with the sound of them -  </em></p><p>
  <em> She drags him up from under the table, her fingers in his collar as she rises and pulls him after her, down the hallway to the bedroom, and if a small voice reminds him he’s going to be late he pushes it aside. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hythlodaeus will understand. </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>Hades delicately brings his mug down from his knee to his lap, and though he doesn’t say a word he sees the realization click as she understands the reason for his sudden flush. The last he sees of her before she teleports is her exasperated expression - which, all things considered, is the most normal thing he’s seen in the past three days.</p><p>“Rein it in,” he mutters to himself, shifting lower in his still-sinking chair as heat floods his limbs. Keeping one hand over his lap, he delicately sips from his mug as he pretends his heartbeat isn’t deafening him. What a cruel and unfortunate time for <em> that </em>memory to come to light!</p><p>If he is lucky this separation will be a few days at most, and then, ah - <em>then</em> he shall introduce his hero to the intricacies of fine dining.</p><p>“Do you prefer datalogs or paper?” Jessie asks, her fingers still twitching over her screen. </p><p>“I can work with either.” Hades suddenly grins. Though his flush and arousal are already dampened, his mood has improved. “I’m flexible.”</p><p>“May the gods grant me patience,” Cid mutters. </p><p>Hades wiggles his fingers in the air as though casting a spell. “Granted.”</p><p>All of the engineers stare at him for a few silent moments before Cid turns to Jessie. “She said I have to <em> not </em> kill him? Has she tried <em> talking </em>to him?”</p><p>Wisely, Jessie chooses not to answer that. She clicks a few more buttons on her datapad before turning her attention back to Hades. “I’ve put out a requisition order for every piece of information we have on Allagan tech. I expect it to make its way here within the day.”</p><p>“Here?” Hades looks around at the soggy surroundings; the fog still hides most of the outpost beyond their meeting area. “Must I?”</p><p>“The alternative is Ala Mhigo with Gaius.”</p><p>Hades makes a face. “I suppose I shall entreat upon your hospitality a little while longer.”</p><p>“Lovely,” Cid says dryly. “If that’s all, I have work to do. I hope you can entertain yourself…?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find something to keep me busy.”</p><p>*</p><p>The Ghimlyt Dark is a cemetery of magitek, a land of ruin that stretches as far as the eye can see. Imperial troops may have withdrawn following Varis’s death, but the ruins of their attempts to take back the Lochs still linger. Fuel and oil course across the unlevel ground, creating slick rainbows of pollution under charred gunships, drones, and wreckage. The dead are long gone, though Hades cannot say which side took care of the recovery, and the silence is absolute. </p><p>His hero had fought Elidibus here. </p><p>Hades knows some of his old friend’s tricks. He expects the Emissary to appear again in a borrowed body, likely attempting to play the role of whoever’s face he wears, but with Garlemald torn in two over the emperor’s murder he cannot assume Elidibus would try to return to Ilsabard. Zenos is not the complacent, mouldable Galvus his father had been; any aid from Ascians is unlikely to go far as a bargaining chip. He half-expects his friend to support Gaius’s orphans.</p><p>Something catches his eye in the closest wreckage: a bright control panel - no doubt attempting to alert its pilot to the proximity of the ground - flashes red in the muck nearby. The gunship is torn in two, revealing the inside of the cockpit to any who would wander close by, and though fire has torn through the back half the pilot’s seat and dashboard are remarkably unharmed. Unoperational, of course, but that lights are still flashing means <em> something </em>is working in the belly of this downed ship.</p><p>How long has it been since he tinkered? How long has he gone without wires and bolts, control panels and system cores, machines and magitek and the fusing of aether into it all? Of late all of his creations have come from aether, and though he is proud - most of the time - of his recreated Amaurot there is something different about making something with his own two hands.</p><p>Rather than step into the cockpit and risk the ruins sinking into the muck, Hades waves a lazy finger through the air. The entire dashboard tears free from the ship with a sheering, cat’s-wail screech. It floats in front of him, dangling a multitude of brightly-coloured wires, and he places his hand back in his pocket. He isn’t quite sure what he’ll do with this mass of technology, but it will surely pass the time until the research material he requested arrives.</p><p>Pleased and eager to work, Hades turns back to make his way to the Alliance Headquarters with his floating tech in tow - only to spot that same Duskwight from the day before. The man glares at him with such obvious intensity that Hades is almost compelled to challenge him, though what he would do or say is anyone’s guess. Just as he opens his mouth to speak the Duskwight spins on his heel and walks away, head held high as he maneuvers through the cluttered landscape.</p><p>Making a mental note to ask Cid about this stranger, Hades watches him depart. He doesn’t think Gaius would order anyone to spy on him - at least, not someone who would be quite so obvious while doing so - but it’s impossible to say. With all trust gone who knows what the former Legatus may resort to?</p><p>Stewing in dark thoughts, Hades begins his return trek to the wooden outpost.</p><p>*</p><p>“How the mighty have fallen!”</p><p>Hades doesn’t bother looking up. With goggles over his eyes, wire in one hand and a small soldering iron in the other, he keeps his focus on the bits and pieces in front of him. “Beg pardon?”</p><p>“From emperor to scavenger! I wouldn’t believe it were it not right in front of my eyes. I’m still not sure I do, to be honest.” Cid moves beside the small table Hades had commandeered for himself in a corner of the outpost; he keeps his hands behind his back as he leans over, watching Hades work. “A circuit board?”</p><p>“An experiment,” Hades murmurs, his focus on the wire and hot iron in his hands. “Something to keep me busy.”</p><p>“An Ascian who knows his way around a workshop?” The Ironworks’ President takes a step back, shaking his head. “Where’d you find the tools?”</p><p>“Borrowed them.”</p><p>Cid snorts. “With permission, I’m sure.”</p><p>Hades sighs and turns off the iron, placing it away from his delicate, half-finished construction before pulling his goggles down. He lets them dangle around his neck as he slouches against his chair, allowing his head to droop as he gives the man an exasperated glare. “May I help you?”</p><p>“In due time, I’m sure.” Cid jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “The journals arrived. Afraid you’re going to have to search manually - we haven’t finished transcribing all our history from paper to datalog, and unfortunately our work on Allagan ruins was pushed back after all that’s happened in the Lochs.”</p><p>“Understandable.” </p><p>“Since none of us want to wander into your tent, we’ve left it all at the guardhouse.”</p><p>Hades glances at the guardhouse, a small, wooden shack that bars entry into the Alliance outpost. Jessie stands next to three wooden crates, again tapping away at her datapad, while the Roegadyn from this morning carries in a fourth. “I appreciate it.”</p><p>“Not to sound rude, but couldn’t you - I don’t know - snap your fingers and <em> magic </em>whatever it is you’re making into existence?”</p><p>“I could do literally just that,” Hades says slowly, looking back to his ilm-length circuit board. It is such a tiny piece - he should have started with a more basic experiment to warm up with - but he has an idea that he’s drawn to, something he’s motivated enough to see through to completion. “Alas, creation magic becomes more complicated when it comes to technical aspects. If I forget a single wire, or misalign even one cog, the entire creation is wasted.”</p><p>“Won’t pretend that didn’t just go right over my head.”</p><p>Hades rolls his eyes. “Let’s say I enjoy creating things with my own hands.”</p><p>“<em>That </em> I understand.” Cid gives him an odd, calculating look, before waving his hand dismissively. “Good luck with - <em> whatever </em>this is.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Hades looks at the paraphernalia strewn over the table and feels a sudden urge to laugh. Had his workbench in Amaurot not looked similar? Had he not been pestered to keep it clean; to narrow his focus to one experiment at a time; to be just a <em> little </em>tidier, please? He can almost hear her voice, ever-so-polite and yet at the end of her vast reservoir of patience, and of course he’d tried - of course he did his best to keep their rooms tidy, to put everything in its spot, but she always seemed to find the one tiny piece he’d missed. </p><p>He picks up the small circuit board between forefinger and thumb. It still needs work, but he has made good progress for the day. He allows himself a small grin as he holds the beginnings of his project up to the sun. </p><p>This, he reasons, is one tiny piece she will be happy to find.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I made a <a href="https://twitter.com/maccaroni_eh">twitter</a> in May and promptly forgot about it when work called me back to the office. If you’d like to follow me, or shoot me some suggestions for who to follow, please know I have no idea what I’m doing but I am trying my very best (or my very second-best, depending on the day, the moon, the status of my pen collection, and whether my current outfit has pockets or not).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sharp Memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The work does not proceed as quickly as Hades hoped. </p><p>Allagan ruins number in the hundreds: from small, barely-excavated homes to the Crystal Tower itself, Eorzea is dotted with Allagan remnants much like a wild chocobo is covered in fleas. Finding one that is not only intact but useful is a labour of great patience and attention to detail.</p><p>Hades is bored by the second day.</p><p>It isn’t that he couldn’t ask for help - there are plenty of researchers in the vicinity, an overabundance of Ironworks employees who no doubt would jump at the chance to get off their feet and read a little - but he is not quite sure how much they know of him. Cid and Gaius know the truth - or enough of it to have formed weighty opinions - and Cid’s closest associates know a measure of it. It is difficult to discern if the rest of the soldiers and engineers in the outpost avoid him because they know of his past or if they treat all Imperials the same, but regardless the result is the same: boredom, a pile of books written by droning mortals more interested in Allagan culture than Allagan relics, and a growing sense of loneliness.</p><p>When he reaches the point of missing even Alisaie’s exasperated groans he leaves his tent in search of anyone who will speak with him.</p><p>“Do you really need to fix what isn’t broken?” The Roegadyn, Biggs, rubs the back of his head as he watches his short friend tinker with two magitek kettles near the center of the outpost.</p><p>“I’m not <em> fixing </em> it! I’m <em> improving </em> it!” The Lalafell hammers at the larger of the two contraptions; it is almost half the size of him. “Tataru loved the Mark XIV but it could be better! I know it could be! The Mark XV will do things you <em> wish </em>you’d dreamed of!”</p><p>“If you’re sure…”</p><p>Hades leaves the two engineers to their kettle debates and aims instead for the tent he knows Cid to be in. Without anything to knock on he attempts to clear his throat in an obvious manner, following up with an awkward, “Garlond?”</p><p>The man’s head pops out of the front of the tent. “Did you find something?”</p><p>“I have a question, if you’ve time to spare.”</p><p>Cid visibly deflates, his arms drooping in front of him as he hangs his head. “Damn and blast. I suppose it’s too early to hope -” He gives his head a shake before holding open the tent flap. “Come on in.”</p><p>Cid’s tent looks much the same as it had his first day here: cluttered, dark, and easy to lose his way in. A small magitek lantern gives the space an eerie green glow.</p><p>“Research stalled?”</p><p>“It goes,” Hades responds dully, earning himself an understanding nod from Cid.</p><p>“Ah, I know that look. Sure, the research goes, but it’s gone and left you dragging behind.” The engineer crosses his arms over his chest. “What was your question?”</p><p>Having come here with one query Hades suddenly finds himself overwhelmed with many of them. He slides his hands into his pockets and frowns, focusing his gaze at the clutter around his feet. “Why work with me?”</p><p>Cid snorts. “That guilty conscious just came roaring in, eh? I worked with Nero and now I’m working with Gaius - if life’s taught me anything it’s that everyone should be given the opportunity to change, and that goes twice for anyone running from Garlemald.”</p><p>“Nero lives?”</p><p>“I assume.” The engineer waves a hand over his shoulder. “We lost track of him near Rhalgr’s Reach, but he’s resourceful. I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner than I want him to.”</p><p>“It almost seems as though you’ve drawn ex-Imperials to you,” Hades says slowly, mulling the thought over even as he says it. </p><p>“Not by choice! If I never have to see Nero again my life will be none the worse for it!” He puts his hands on his hips. “Can’t say the same isn’t true for Gaius, honestly, but at least he’s easier to work with than Nero. Marginally.”</p><p>“There are others among the Ironworks who once called Garlemald home.”</p><p>“And they’ve worked hard to get here! But many sought me out specifically - it was not chance that brought us here but determination.” Cid frowns. “What’s at the heart of all this questioning? What’s really on your mind?”</p><p>Hades doesn’t rightly know. He is a fish out of water among other land-walking fish, yet the oceans he swam are vast and mysterious compared to the streams the others passed through. Looking to anyone for advice seems as ridiculous here as it had on the First. “I am merely surprised by the leeway you have given me. Most are not so quick to trust.”</p><p>“I trust the Warrior of Light. If she tells me to work with you, I’ll work with you. If she tells me you’re on our side, you’re on our side. If I start doubting her I’d have to doubt some of my life’s greatest works, and that’s a road I’m not willing to walk down.” Cid pauses, giving him an appraising look before throwing his hands in the air. “Do you <em> want </em>me to treat you like Gaius is treating you?”</p><p>“It would be more understandable,” Hades mutters before shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “I apologize. I needed a break from my work and my feet led me here. I did not intend to plague you with inane questions.”</p><p>Cid holds up a hand, stopping him before he leaves the tent. “I had a question of my own, actually. If you don’t mind.”</p><p>About the Warrior? About Garlemald? About his lies and fictions, his work annihilating multiple worlds of innocent souls, his dabbling in magic and science that blurs the line between powers man should wield? Hades shuffles the doubt and worry aside and nods, hoping his face does not look as ill as he feels.</p><p>“What would you say to a father who lost their child?”</p><p>“I -” Hades looks away, dredging a hand through his hair as he searches for anything appropriate - but there is nothing, no words or sayings or platitudes that could be easily voiced for such a situation. “I am not in the same position Gaius finds himself in.”</p><p>“No, but there are relatively few fathers in our camp. Raubahn’s adopted son is still living, and the majority of us happen to be bachelors.” Cid claps him on the back as he opens the front of the tent, gently guiding Hades through it. “Maybe give it some thought.”</p><p>Of course Cid would know Solus’s history - of course he would know about Solus’s sons.</p><p>Solus’s dead sons.</p><p><em> Hades’s </em> dead sons.</p><p>Now is not the time or place to follow this train of thought. Hades retreats to his tent and dives back into his books. He skims through chapters and snippets, half his mind on the material in front of him while the other half wanders through memories from a different life. </p><p>The day does not pass quickly. </p><p>*</p><p>Evening finds Hades meandering through the Ghimlyt Dark. At night the place is a mausoleum of shadows and strange shapes, of puddles of oil and piles of earth; as dark as it is there is no point in searching for anything to scavenge. Hades is here to think, whether he wants to or not. </p><p>Cid had caught him off-guard that morning with talk of fathers and children. After being so caught up in <em>being an Imperial</em> it is still surprising when someone reminds him that Garlemald’s legacy is born of his own flesh and blood: somehow Varis and Zenos are always an afterthought. His mind goes first to the battles and the wars, the Seventh Calamity and all their attempts for an eighth. His family never registers. </p><p><em> She </em> is his family - his <em> hero </em> has always held his heart, not the Garlean wife he married or the sons she bore him. Even at the time he knew it was an act -</p><p>But it is difficult to play a part for so long and then step back from the repercussions. He cannot wipe his hands of what remains. </p><p>Gaius had lost a daughter; adopted though she may have been, he had loved her and raised her as his own. Hades, having lost two sons, cannot find the common ground Cid requested he seek. Even if he could it is unlikely Gaius would listen to anything that comes out of his mouth. The gap is too large; they have both changed too much. Reconciliation is impossible. </p><p>Hades hears a sharp intake of breath behind him and spins around. </p><p>The Duskwight stands a few yalms away, his staff in one hand and his dark eyes just visible in the twilight gloom. To say he appears upset would be an understatement, but Hades can think of no reason why. </p><p>“I do not believe we’ve been introduced,” he calls across the wreckage. </p><p>“Why would I give my name to an Ascian?” the Elezen snarls.</p><p>“Ah.” Hades shifts his weight as he crosses his arms. “What exactly is your purpose in following me out here? Delightful as this encounter promises to be, you can’t have hoped to catch me unawares.”</p><p>“Are you working with Baelsar?”</p><p>Hades frowns. An odd question, especially in these circumstances; it does not tempt him towards honesty. “I am working with the Ironworks. What is Gaius to you?”</p><p>“A villain - just like yourself.”</p><p>“<em>Gods</em>.” Hades groans and allows his head to drop to one side, his whole posture seeming to cave inwards as the monotony of being forced to have this conversation <em> yet again </em> drives him past the point of politeness. “Yes, yes - just get it out of your system. What am I this time? Evil incarnate? The scourge of Eorzea? Go on: tell me a new one.”</p><p>Perhaps that had gone too far. The Duskwight teleports away, leaving Hades alone among the bones of Garlean magitek. </p><p>Not for the first time he wonders if this venture is a mistake. How is he to focus on saving the world when most of its inhabitants clamour for his death? Redemption is an odd, finicky line to traverse, made even more difficult when those around him are actively throwing boulders into his lane. One cannot shout, “I apologize!” and believe that corrects every wrong committed; that every orphan and widow and survivor will smile and bless him with forgiveness. For some the only true end to their hatred is in death - theirs, or his - and that is a path he will not walk.</p><p>He’d been making progress on the First. Whether through his hero’s efforts or his own, the Scions and the Exarch had begun to let their walls drop. They had understood the effort he was putting forth - had witnessed not only his conviction but his utter loyalty to the woman at his side. With much work to do it was at least heartening to see the hatred begin to thaw.</p><p>On the Source he is back to the beginning, and what a hated, tiresome beginning it is. He likes his past no more than his new colleagues do, yet they are resolute in forcing him to relive it! As though he must apologize for every breath he drew, every death he caused, every action he ever took! </p><p>Hades swallows his temper, stamping down the rage building in his chest. It will do more harm than good, and he is here to <em> do good </em> - whatever that means.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> “Do you remember what I told you?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Large, solemn eyes move from the woman holding the boy’s hand to Solus, seated on the edge of his throne. He leans forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, and though he knows he is an imposing force for a young boy he cannot stay his own curiosity. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Be good?” the boy asks, his high voice hesitant. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You must bow,” the woman replies quietly, calmly, without a hint of disapproval. “Just like I taught you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Gathering himself up with as much dignity as a toddler can muster, the boy puffs out his chest, throws his shoulders back, and with a frown that would put many of Solus’s generals to shame bends hard at the waist. “Your Radiance!” He snaps upright, a lock of blonde hair falling over his eyes as he does, and then turns to look up to his mother. “Was I good?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You were perfect,” the woman says, a smile turning her humble face into something far greater. She glances to Solus with a knowing twinkle in her eyes as she rests her hands over the top of her large, rounded belly, before turning back to the boy. “Father has work to take care of. Would you like to find lunch with me?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Lunch!” The boy jumps, thrusting a fist in the air as he bounces excitedly, before remembering where he is and spinning back towards the throne. He bows again, a quick jerking move that throws even more hair across his forehead. “Your Radiance!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Solus can’t help himself - he smiles, earning a giddy little laugh from the boy. “Enjoy your meal.” He covers his hand with his mouth as his wife bobs a curtsy; she, too, is trying not to grin. Together the two leave the room - she waddles somewhat, burdened as she is, but the boy skips all the way to the exit. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Seconds after the heavy door slams shut a cat’s-eye of black and purple aether blossoms several feet from Solus’s dias. The smile drains from his face as he leans back, sucking his teeth with his tongue, and watches a white-robed man materialize from the depths of the voidgate. </em>
</p><p><em> “</em><b><em>Two</em> </b> <em> children, Emet-Selch? Is that truly necessary?” </em></p><p>
  <em> He rolls his eyes at the disapproval in the Emissary’s deep voice. “I am playing a role. Do not fault me if I take some small enjoyment in it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “A role that does not need heirs, if our work is to come to fruition on schedule, and yet -” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Tell me what the harm may be in immersing myself in this charade. Tell me why my little distractions aggravate you so.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The look in Elidibus’s eyes does strange things to Solus’s stomach, and for a moment he regrets asking. “Your little distractions do not aggravate me,” the man says quietly, cooly. “Sometimes I merely find myself wondering…” He tilts his head to one side. “You always were the most gifted at recognizing others’ souls.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Solus narrows his eyes. “Get to the point.” </em>
</p><p><em> “Is </em> <b> <em>she </em> </b> <em> a fragment?” </em></p><p>
  <em> He turns his head. Every little mote of joy from seeing his son’s eager grin is wiped away, blasted into nothingness by the sharp regret and heartbreak that replaces it. He closes his eyes and tries not to think of her - his true wife, his love lost at the end of the world - but even millennia later the loneliness is heavy enough to smother. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I thought not.” Elidibus speaks in a whisper, but there is no kindness in his tone. “I will return after sunset.” </em>
</p><p><em> The sound of a voidgate opening and closing announces the Emissary’s departure, but Solus does not open his eyes to confirm it. He is not quite ready to view the lies built up around him - the house of cards he calls an empire, the hoard of falsehoods he beds down upon, the play of which he has taken the leading role. He hates it - but he loves it - but he </em> <b> <em>needs </em> </b> <em> it, needs to feel connected, needs to pretend the world is as it should be even as the memories of his true life routinely plague him. </em></p><p>
  <em> Elidibus seeks to remind him of his place but Solus cannot forget. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Would that he could… </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Symmetry of Loneliness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We’ll need to visit Azys Lla.”</p>
<p>Cid’s face simultaneously brightens and deflates. “My bloody luck.”</p>
<p>“You asked for my help, and that’s the best place I’ve found for what you need.” Hades taps the map on the table between them. He frowns. “Is Tiamat still there?” </p>
<p>“You’re not involving her, are you?”</p>
<p>“Not if I can help it.” His fingers trace the outline of one of the many floating islands that make up the heart of Allag’s greatest research centre. “I have no desire to disturb her, especially given my involvement with her mate.”</p>
<p>Biggs leans forward. “Wait - what <em> was </em>your involvement with -”</p>
<p>Hades speaks over him. “Though Alpha Quadrant focused primarily on automatons and other mechanical creations, I believe what would help us most is in Beta Quadrant. Should I go on my own, or is this a venture you wish to accompany me on?”</p>
<p>Cid leans back in his chair, chewing on his thumbnail as he studies the map. “Their experiments are still up there, you know. The Ironworks employs researchers - engineers, scientists, archaeologists. Not many among us are going to be able to do much against the creatures on those islands, let alone the Imperials wandering through them.”</p>
<p>“Leave them to me,” Hades says, waving a hand dismissively. “I doubt anything will prove too great a challenge.”</p>
<p>The engineers exchange looks before Cid finally sits forward and rolls up the map. “We’re coming. I’ll prep the ship.”</p>
<p>“We’re with you, chief.” Biggs and Wedge follow after him, leaving Hades alone with Jessie.</p>
<p>“Are you joining us?” he asks politely. Of all the engineers in this outpost she seems the least bothered by his presence, but he hasn’t taken that to mean much: nothing seems to bother her except for Cid. </p>
<p>She snorts, already reaching for her datapad. “No, I’m going to be budgeting in fuel costs for a flight to the heavens and back.” She slides lower in her chair, moving down until her chin almost touches her chest as she prods at her screen with one finger.</p>
<p>“Ah.” A rabble of voices from the guardhouse draws his attention away from Jessie. Cid has returned to the fenced-in area with Gaius, a blue-haired Hyur, and the Duskwight that’s been plaguing Hades’s footsteps. He narrows his eyes at the Elezen, who glares directly at him, but the trio stay with Cid on the opposite end of the outpost. “Jessie?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Who are Baelsar’s quiet companions?”</p>
<p>“Oh, them?” She finally looks up from her datapad to squint at the group. “Severa and Valdeaulin? They’ve been with him as long as we’ve known them, but I couldn’t say why they’re with him or where they found each other. They’re not Garlean, if that’s what you’re asking.”</p>
<p>“Eorzean?” He keeps his eyes on the Elezen, who has turned his fierce attention to Gaius - and seems no happier than when he’d been staring down Hades. </p>
<p>“I’ve always assumed so, but it wasn't my business to question. They’re not on my payroll, are they?”</p>
<p>“But that <em> is </em>the question, isn’t it?” Hades murmurs to himself. The Hyur seems much more relaxed than the Elezen beside her, yet she is still deferential to Gaius. Neither of them speak at all while Gaius and Cid converse; they appear to be nothing more than bodyguards. </p>
<p>Though, catching the glare the Duskwight gives the back of Gaius’s head, it is somewhat difficult to tell if Gaius is being guarded or herded. </p>
<p>Hopefully one day they’ll be generous enough to tell him. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The last time he’d ventured into Azys Lla had been during the Starlight Celebration, when his hero had given him a tour of the places that meant the most to her - which, he’d belatedly realized, had all left her reeling from loss. Islands and ships and drones, strange floating creations that may be magitek or something else entirely, and even fragments of rock and stone clutter the sickly orange and green sky. There is nothing welcoming in this view; Hades feels not a drop of nostalgia for what lies before him. </p>
<p>Though he had helped set this research station afloat, his focus had been on Allagan marvels on land. Another of his brethren had focused on the Warring Triad and the other bits and pieces that grew from the aetherochemical experiments housed across two quadrants. Truthfully Hades rarely ever set foot upon this strange, floating archipelago - the last he can recall during Allagan times had been the day they chained Tiamat. </p>
<p>He does not dwell on those memories for long. </p>
<p>“Let’s try Alpha Quadrant first,” he says, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the closest mass of land from Cid’s airship. He’d forgotten how blasted cold it is this high in the sky; while many of the islands have climate controls the same cannot be said for the Ironworks’ best ship. “We may find something among the magitek.” </p>
<p>“Your confidence is not encouraging,” Cid mutters, but he turns the airship in that direction anyway. “Anywhere in particular?”</p>
<p>Hazy memories pull Hades east. “There is a beacon slightly south of the center of this quadrant. If the terminal still exists I should be able to utilize it.”</p>
<p>The airship passes over blue and gold floors, past floating orbs encased in strange metal and creations both magitek and aetherochemical. The owlbears howl at the sight of them, but their stunted, thin wings do not allow them to fly the distance to reach the ship; nothing else in the quadrant pays them any mind as they pass overhead. </p>
<p>“There,” he says, gesturing to a tall, thin spire of metal. Red lights glow all the way up, some circling it and others mere dots of illumination near the top. Compared to most of Azys Lla it is largely unremarkable, but it had been designed not to call attention to itself. </p>
<p>Cid sets the airship down on the rock nearby. The small crew makes no move to disembark, though Hades cannot blame them: from what he’s heard of their last expedition they had been set upon by everything that moved. It made sense that the technology and creatures set loose would turn feral after several millennia of forced replication and inbreeding.</p>
<p>Hades leads Cid, Biggs, and Wedge out onto the metal flooring that surrounds the beacon. Their chorus of footsteps is the only sound in this strange, dead space; even though the magitek glows with power it is completely silent. There is no console in sight, but for this kind of tech that is to be expected. Stretching out one hand, it is simple enough to turn his aether towards the dormant powers within the beacon. An array of glowing screens manifests near its base, many showing fluctuating readings and graphs, while the one in the middle displays lines of text.</p>
<p>“Is there a reason you swung from an empire built on magic to one without a drop of it?” Cid asks as he moves forward, frowning at the screens in front of them.</p>
<p>“Have you ever had a star pupil surpass you?” Hades asks mildly, waving his hand to change the readings. “The Allagans were given extraordinary insights into the ways of both tech and magic. We should have expected them to experiment, but the lengths to which they extended their powers was unforeseen. Omega augmented their tech considerably, and - had they caught onto our plan - they would have inevitably risen to challenge us.” </p>
<p>“Couldn’t have that, could you?”</p>
<p>“I would stop short of calling Allag a mistake in the Ascian plan - it granted us the means for multiple Rejoinings, after all - but it was decided that we limit the type of magic we provide to future civilizations, or restrict it entirely. Ah.” Hades expands a screen, allowing it to block the ones behind it. “Would this suffice?”</p>
<p>The three engineers step forward to peer at the blueprints. The design is vaguely humanlike, with arms and legs and a head in the right place, but the template is clearly magitek: wires, fuel, and mechanical components throughout.</p>
<p>“Chief, that’s enormous!” Biggs rests his hands on his hips, sounding thoroughly impressed. “Nearly the size of one of the Weapons!”</p>
<p>“Various offensive options,” Cid mutters as he scans the blueprints. “Defensive capabilities and self-repairing mechanisms. The metal plating looks beyond our current tech - late Allagan, if I’m reading these glyphs properly - and - is that…?”</p>
<p>“A cockpit,” Hades confirms, impressed despite himself. Perhaps he has underestimated the young Garlond. “Designed for one pilot, though certain systems can be deployed remotely.”</p>
<p>“And it’s here? In Azys Lla?”</p>
<p>Hades curls his finger. One of the screens slides to the front, displaying a map of the scattered islands around them. A blinking marker manifests on one of the far eastern islands. “There.”</p>
<p>“A short flight away.” Cid jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards the airship. “Come on.”</p>
<p>As the others leave Hades waves a hand, dispelling the power that holds the screens in place. He cannot so easily dispel the uneasy feeling in his stomach, his anxiety coiling into knots even as he turns to follow the engineers. </p>
<p>Even though Cid had not mentioned it, Hades suspects he already has a pilot in mind for this mech.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Recovering the mech is not as simple as they had hoped. The exploration takes them to an island that is more machine than land; named the Habisphere, the top half is entirely Allagan. Initially stumped by the seemingly-impassable surface, Hades belatedly remembers the control center for this particular island is only slightly to the north, and the airship takes off yet again.</p>
<p>“You built a control center for an <em> island</em>?”</p>
<p>Hades simply stares at the Lalafell, who immediately looks away, before he turns his attention to Cid. “You needn’t disembark. There will be little to see here.”</p>
<p>“There will be little to see, or there will be little you want <em> me </em>to see?” Cid stares at the domed control center floating on its own private island; the space is barely bigger than the airship itself. Finally he snorts and waves a hand. “Be quick.”</p>
<p>“It will take as long as it takes.” Without another word Hades vanishes into a voidgate, reappearing next to the metal dome that houses the island’s controls. When the door does not open at his simple, magical knock he clicks his tongue against his teeth. A quick wave of his hand tears the door off its hinges and flings the warped metal to the ground, revealing the dark interior momentarily lit only by the dim haze behind him; his shadow cuts across the haze and stretches across the floor as he steps into the doorway proper. Lights appear automatically, flaring along the floor and up the curved walls of the single-room building. Allagan tech clogs the space within while thick wires and tubes dangle from the ceiling; Hades’s lip curls as he makes his way through the cluttered, musty space. No doubt Cid and his engineers would love to investigate this place, but he is not eager to reveal <em> all </em>of Allag’s secrets. He trusts that Cid will do well by them, but not every researcher has noble intentions.</p>
<p>He knows all too well how fast intelligent men can fall to temptation.</p>
<p>“Hypocrite,” he mutters, again twisting the aether to bring up a variety of screens and glowing panels. These have much more security than the beacon to the west, but they are codes and parameters he is familiar with. The console quickly opens to him, revealing what he needs about the Habisphere nearby, and he adjusts the settings to open the main door before reengaging the security protocols. Content that random Imperials won’t be able to wander through the data stored within, he employs another voidgate to take him back to the airship.</p>
<p>“Access granted,” he says, pretending not to see Biggs and Wedge jump at his sudden appearance. “We’ll be teleporting in.”</p>
<p>“My favourite,” Cid mutters from behind the wheel. “Trusting ancient unknown technology because an Ascian said it was safe.”</p>
<p>“I never said that,” Hades says mildly, earning himself stares from everyone on board. He shrugs, and, seeing the efforts Cid takes to find a decent place to land, uses another voidgate to teleport himself to the top of the Habisphere.</p>
<p>“That’s cheating!”</p>
<p>He turns his back on the airship before they see his smile.</p>
<p>Amongst grass and trees lies a metal depression some twenty fulms below the surface. Ramps on two sides lead to the grate-covered center, through which he sees a circular interior room with multiple doors. Neon blue and green lights illuminate both the inside of the structure and six teleporters on the top, three to the east and three to the west. Hades waits near the eastern side for the engineers to catch up.</p>
<p>“I suppose using a bit of that magic to rip open the door would be too much here, eh?” Cid does not look impressed.</p>
<p>“When I might set something free, yes it would be,” Hades replies sweetly, giving the man his most vacant-eyed smile. “Though if you’d rather I tear off the gate in the name of simplicity and take our chances with whatever might be inside, please - do tell me how you feel.”</p>
<p>Cid crosses his arms. “Something dangerous is down there?”</p>
<p>“It’s Allagan - it would be more surprising if there <em> wasn’t </em>something dangerous in every room.” Without waiting for a response he steps onto one of the teleporters. Light blinds him for an instant before fading to reveal the inside of the room he’d stood above seconds earlier; he tilts his head back to watch the engineers stand, motionless, on the grate far above him. “Today, please!”</p>
<p>It feels just a touch as though he’s been asked to watch a collection of errant children; he manages not to smirk as Cid, Biggs, and Wedge eventually appear beside him. </p>
<p>“Divide and conquer?” he suggests, gesturing to the consoles outside each of the doors that ring the wall.</p>
<p>As he moves to his own console he watches the three of them. Each engages the Allagan tech with no hesitation; they swipe through menus and read-outs with the ease of those familiar with the language and systems. Smiling his own, private smile, Hades flicks through his own set of read-outs until he establishes that door number one is not his lucky door. The same could be said for all of them, as each of the engineers moves on to the next closest door to them. </p>
<p>“That’s a minotaur in that one,” Biggs announces darkly. “I’m leaving <em> that </em> be.”</p>
<p>Hades’s fingers fumble against the screens. “A minotaur…?”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> “I think it rather brutal, if you are seeking honest critique.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I am! And brutal is good - brutal is great! Brutal fits all of my criteria!” The Speaker claps his hands together and the lights over the enormous cage go out, plunging the lower room into darkness. “Come! I’ll make us a drink.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Emet-Selch follows a few steps behind him. They leave the viewing gallery and pass through an elaborate - if cluttered - laboratory, past smaller cages with sleeping creatures and out into a wide, dim room. At a wave from Lahabrea the sconces around the walls gradually brighten, and soon the entire room is reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall. The reflection doesn’t quite do any of it justice - the wood stained so dark it is almost black, the elaborate tile-work on both the floor and walls, the vaulted ceiling stretching far above their heads - but Emet-Selch looks at it anyway. The Speaker hurries around the small bar at the far end of the room, humming a low melody even as he grabs glasses and bottles with the practiced hands of one who has poured more than a few drinks. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Ice, or no?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “None is fine,” Emet-Selch replies, moving close enough to the glass to see the city beyond. Lights from other windows brighten his few, turning the dark structures around him into beacons throughout the dark city sky.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You always were a strange one. I'll enjoy the ice myself.” He hears ice tinkle into one glass and then liquid pouring behind him. “But - ah! Did you see how it caught our smell? How it narrowed in on the door? It’s a predator! Oh, I’m so pleased - after that dismal display with the bombs you can’t imagine how this has turned my spirits around.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I thought the bombs were rather to the point,” Emet-Selch says mildly, turning as the shorter Amaurotine hurries up beside him. He takes the small glass of amber liquid, clinks it against the Speaker’s, and takes a sip. Expensive, as he’d expected, but well-worth the price tag.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “If the point was efficiency, but no! I want a creature I can release into the wild and return decades later to find it has adapted into the environment! I want a creature that will meld just as well as Mitron’s beautiful sharks! I want -” He stops and sighs. “Damnit, I want to fit something into the food chain. The bombs didn’t even eat!” </em>
</p>
<p><em> “I believe you have created something fit for the </em> <b> <em>top </em> </b> <em> of said chain.” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “An apex predator, you mean?” Lahabrea rests back on his heels, sloshing the drink and ice around his glass as he considers. “Perhaps I was overzealous when it came to the size…” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Size of tooth and claw, more like.” Emet-Selch sees the man’s shoulders slump and attempts for damage control. “But it is beautiful! The coat is a work of art!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “And the sounds! That roar would startle every bird out of the forest!”  </em>
</p>
<p><em> “It would startle </em> <b> <em>me </em> </b> <em> out of the forest.” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Lahabrea laughs at that, his good mood instantly restored. “Ah, well, I cannot say I will let it loose anytime soon. Perhaps this is simply a first attempt - if I should make some alterations -” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You might consider quadrupedalism,” Emet-Selch suggests. “If you are taking more critique, I mean.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh, yes, of course! But four legs would change the entire skeleton - and the musculature - but if I keep the head just as it is - and, hmm, hooves at the ends of all limbs -” He frowns. “The hooves might move it towards the diet of a herbivore, but I will consider it. I definitely will.” He leans towards Emet-Selch even as he looks into his drink. “I appreciate you taking a look, you know. After the bomb fiasco I do believe Mitron has sworn off my creations for good, but I have always valued your opinion.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Ah, well.” Caught off-guard by the open sincerity, Emet-Selch fumbles in his attempt to reciprocate. “I appreciate the chance to witness it.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Lahabrea laughs again. “And the chance at the distraction! How long has Azem been gone this time?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His hand tightens around his glass. “A fortnight. Not that I am counting, mind you.” Forcing his fingers to relax, he changes the topic before he allows his own worries to overtake him and spoil the evening. “Have you thought of a name for your creation?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I have a few ideas.” </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“You alright over there?”</p>
<p>Hades startles out of his reverie, blinking repeatedly as he focuses on the glowing screens in front of him. He’d forgotten what it had been like when she first took her seat on the Convocation - the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the constant wondering whether she was alright and if she needed his aid. She never had - and she’d never asked for it - and his worried thoughts and constant “what-ifs” had gradually diminished over time. </p>
<p>Strange that he should feel the same anxieties now, when she is no longer tasked with that role and they are millennia from those lives and those worries.</p>
<p>“I’m reading,” he says, and swipes past the screen he’d lingered on for far too long. “What were you saying?”</p>
<p>“Wedge found it - it’s in this one.”</p>
<p>Hades drags his thoughts to the present, dismissing the data on his console before moving towards the small gathering across the room. The screen over Wedge’s head shows an in-depth schematic for the magitek he’d shown them at the beacon, along with instructions for operation and maintenance. “Have you copied these?”</p>
<p>“Doing so now,” Biggs murmurs, sliding past Wedge to hook up a datapad to the console. </p>
<p>“The door itself is locked,” Cid mentions. “We could spend time bypassing the security in place, or…”</p>
<p>The metal doors screech as Hades’s power bends them inwards. He curls his finger into his fist and the doors slam back against the inner walls, revealing the back-lit silhouette of the magitek they intend to repurpose. “‘Cheating’, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>Cid rolls his eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me, super sick and stuck in self-isolation: but what if Lahabrea used to be somebody I would've liked to know...?</p>
<p>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. What Comes Around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s ancient, chief.”</p>
<p>“A relic.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure -”</p>
<p>“Will our fuel even work -”</p>
<p>“How much gil is this going to -”</p>
<p>“Enough!”</p>
<p>Even though Hades cannot see the man’s exasperated expression, he can easily imagine it. Mid Garlond had worn the same look often enough. </p>
<p>“We’re going to fix it! We’re the Ironworks, aren’t we? Getting iron things working is what we do!”</p>
<p>Hades leans over his table, narrowing his eyes at the magnifying glass he’d clamped into place to better see his work. With the soldering iron and wire back in his hands he had intended to dedicate his afternoon to this pet project in front of him, but it is impossible to block out the engineers nearby. Not that he particularly minds - it is a small pleasure to know that others are frustrated and he is not the cause - but the temptation to turn around and witness Cid’s eyerolls firsthand pulls at his focus.</p>
<p>“We can’t keep it here,” Cid announces, and Hades’s hands freeze. “It’s far too obvious, and if the first thunderstorm doesn’t fry it I’ll eat my hammer. Jessie!”</p>
<p>“Chief?”</p>
<p>“Could you send some messages east? I need to know if Ala Mhigo has anything big enough to house this for us.”</p>
<p>A seed of worry settles in Hades’s stomach. If they move the magitek east it is likely he will be required to travel there as well, inevitably bringing him into contact with more strangers who will question the third eye and demand the story behind it. Tiring as it may be, he doubts Cid would appreciate him lying to whoever may be leading the newly-freed Ala Mhigans.</p>
<p>Unless…</p>
<p>“Garlond!”</p>
<p>“As if I don’t have enough to worry about,” Cid mutters, but he joins Hades at his work table. “What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>“Would you happen to have a spare pair of goggles?”</p>
<p>The engineer narrows his eyes as he stares at Hades’s face. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you happen to be wearing a spare pair of our goggles at this very moment.”</p>
<p>“Not like these,” Hades clarifies. “Like yours.”</p>
<p>Cid is quiet for so long that Hades sits straight, turning to face the ex-Imperial with tools in hand. The man’s frown is a deep set of furrows in his forehead. “I have to admit I am not entirely uncomfortable with you hiding that part of yourself,” he says eventually, keeping his voice low. “Whatever freedom I give you here is only because you’re under my eye, so to speak. Ala Mhigo is a much bigger place.”</p>
<p>“Full of abnormally tall Hyurs with white forelocks, I take it?”</p>
<p>Cid snorts. “You’re memorable, sure, but if you hide the eye no one’s going to be watching you.”</p>
<p>Hades shoulders droop. “Ah. You <em> want </em>them to watch me.” He allows himself a weary sigh as his head rolls to one side. “Who in Ala Mhigo will need to know the truth?”</p>
<p>“No one! You’re not the first Imperial to join our cause and I doubt you’ll be the last - I’ll introduce you as Hades and no more than that. Provided you keep your finger-wiggling to a minimum I doubt anyone will look any closer.”</p>
<p>Had his hands not been full Hades would have indulged himself in a little theatrical finger-wiggling, but instead he turns back to his tiny circuit boards. “You’re delaying the inevitable.”</p>
<p>“I’ll let our Warrior of Light deal with the inevitable,” Cid mutters as he walks away. “We leave at dawn!”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Evening again finds Hades wandering through the muck and ruin outside the outpost’s walls. He is not quite sure what draws him here - not the scenery, certainly - but the quiet and solitude are definitely welcome. Here he can look as exhausted as he feels without being subjected to rounds of questions and constant scrutiny; here he can drop the walls that hide the self.</p>
<p>When the Warrior had first told him she needed his help on the Source he had expected to be plunged into the conflict in Garlemald. With Varis’s murder and Zenos fleeing the capital he believed it inevitable the Eorzean Alliance would grasp the opportunity presented and move swiftly to take control - which only shows how little he knows of Eorzea and its people. There had been no incursions, no skirmishes, not a single mounted battle save the one attack by the Ruby Weapon; it is as though the Eorzean leaders had seen the conflict across their borders and stepped back to allow it to conclude on its own terms.</p>
<p>Hades-as-Solus cannot understand it. A land brought to civil war is a fruit ripe for plucking: Eorzea should have invaded the moment they learned Varis was dead.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> “My son - my son is -” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I am sorry, Father. The chirurgeons could not stop the bleeding.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He looks away from Titus as he curls his hands into fists. Magic could have helped. Magic could do what needles and sutures could not. Magic could have found the source of the illness, could have burned out infection and disease, could have stabilized and held on to what remains. Magic could have created hope, as it always has done in the past. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But Solus is not a mage, and his empire has no magic. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Leave me.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Titus makes a noise of disapproval, but he gives the order for the room to be emptied. Dozens of feet echo across the enormous audience chamber, stamping across the floor in their rush to not be the last one left with the grieving father - with the emperor who, for the first time in anyone’s memory, suddenly has tears on his cheeks. </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He feels the aether fluctuate behind him. It is the only warning he has, but it is enough.</p>
<p>He creates an invisible dome around himself so quickly it upsets small clouds of dust where it touches the ground; an instant later it is enveloped in a giant cloud of flame. Tongues of fire lick towards him, fighting to breach his magical barrier even as he snarls back at them. The heat is oppressive, stealing air and pressing inwards, yet still he stands without moving -</p>
<p>The fire vanishes as quickly as it came.</p>
<p>Hades turns. A figure stands several yalms away, the sunset at their back as they raise their staff yet again. He clicks his tongue against his teeth even as he rolls his eyes, teleporting through a voidgate before the second spell can be cast.</p>
<p>“Valdaeulin, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>The Elezen spins around but Hades reacts faster. A magical, invisible fist slams into the man’s stomach, folding him in half as the air rushes out of his mouth. Hades snaps the staff out of Valdaeulin’s hands as the Elezen collapses to his knees, gasping for breath, and the invisible hand puts pressure on the downed man’s neck to keep him there even as Hades backs away.</p>
<p>“That was foolish,” Hades says, tossing the staff behind him. He slips his hands into his pockets and tilts his head to one side, considering the possibilities. None of them are good. “Does Baelsar know you’re here?”</p>
<p>“No,” the Elezen grunts, still fighting for breath.</p>
<p>“Interesting.” He crouches, resting his arms on his knees as he waits for the Elezen to focus on him. Even in the dim light of dusk the hatred and rage in the stranger’s eyes is a surprise. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to explain what led us to this point.” The man spits at his boots. “A ‘no’ would have sufficed.”</p>
<p>What to do? Killing the man will take care of today’s problems, but today’s problems are small in the grand scheme of things. If this act is the worst the Duskwight has ever committed it is not enough to condemn the man to death; certainly, at any other time he would have been applauded for it.</p>
<p>Shame for him the world has changed.</p>
<p>“I’m going to let you go,” Hades says cheerfully, still crouched in the muck. “I’m going to leave first, of course, but you’ll be free to depart after I do. You can scurry back to wherever Gaius has taken himself, and if you never speak of what happened here then I shall do the same.” His tone changes. “But should you ever harm those close to me do not doubt that I will kill you.”</p>
<p>The Duskwight hisses. “You’re a murderer!”</p>
<p>“Ah, well.” He rises and brushes invisible dust off his thighs. “Don’t you know the Imperials say the same of our Warrior of Light?” He gives the shaken Elezen a jaunty wave before vanishing into a voidgate, teleporting himself far across the Ghimlyt Dark to the Alliance Headquarters.</p>
<p>It is only once he enters his tent that he releases the spell keeping the man on his knees.</p>
<p>It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He should have known that an apology and quick explanation would not erase the millennia of deceit and depravity he’d subjected this world to. He should have expected someone to make a move. </p>
<p>He doubts Gaius had sent the man. Whatever their relationship is now, the Black Wolf would not stoop to inefficient assassins to rid himself of his one-time mentor. The Duskwight is operating on his own, likely without the blessing - or knowledge - of the man he travels with.</p>
<p>A shout from outside his tent pulls him out of his reverie. He thrusts back the tent flap and steps out into the night air, frowning as he glances from hearth to hearth until - </p>
<p>“Hades! Get your gangly ass over here!”</p>
<p>Reminding himself that skewering Cid Garlond is not the kind of thing one does when trying to make amends, he moves towards the guardhouse near the outpost gate. Cid stands with Jessie, a few of their soldiers, and a blonde man with a tattoo across one temple and an eyepatch over the opposite eye. The newcomer’s stare immediately focuses on Hades’s third eye.</p>
<p>“He’s the one? The Imperial mage?”</p>
<p>Hades arches an eyebrow. What an odd title to be known by, but he doesn’t deny it as they all wait for Cid to answer.</p>
<p>“He is. What’s the issue?”</p>
<p>The stranger faces Hades, directing his message straight to him. “You’re needed at the Rising Stones, ser. Krile says it’s an emergency.”</p>
<p>“The Scions?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “Don’t rightly know, ser. My apologies, but she wasn’t in the mood for talking. I’ve traveled a ways to get to you as quickly as I could - asking questions would’ve only slowed me down.”</p>
<p>Hades turns to Cid, who watches him with crossed arms. “I trust you can manage without me?”</p>
<p>“Are we not the bloody Ironworks?” Cid growls. “If the Scions are in danger you best get over there now. We’ll take care of things with the mech.”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Hades hesitates before he teleports, turning his head towards his tent. He’d packed everything away in preparation for the morning’s move to Ala Mhigo; it is a simple trick of aether to summon his small bag to his side. “I appreciate the use of your tools.”</p>
<p>“Bah.” Cid shoos him away. “Get going! And tell that Warrior of yours I’ve got a new toy for her to try!”</p>
<p>Hades keeps his face composed even as he slips his bag of finished circuits into his jacket pocket. He doubts Cid would appreciate it if he responded with, “Me, too.” </p>
<p>One voidgate later Hades appears in the middle of the Rising Stones, earning himself a scattering of shrieks and cries as various members of the Scions react to his sudden manifestation in their headquarters.</p>
<p>“It’s alright - it’s alright!” A tiny Lalafell runs forward, waving her hands in the air. “We invited him! He’s supposed to be here!”</p>
<p>A glance around the warmly-lit interior reveals a number of strangers with weapons drawn, all eyeing him with suspicion and fear. He belatedly realizes appearing by dark magic is perhaps not the best first impression he could have made. </p>
<p>“My apologies,” he says, bowing to the room in general. “I was summoned here by one named Krile, and thought it best to arrive as quickly as possible.”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, and we’re glad you did!” The Lalafell grabs the cuff of his sleeve and drags him to a door on his left. “Go on, now! She needs help!”</p>
<p>Pushed inside before he can even utter a word, Hades finds himself in a dark chamber. A few lone candles illuminate corners of the room, giving him some sense of space and the furniture throughout, but it isn’t until he moves further in that he glimpses the blue radiance from a healing spell on the other side of a row of dividers. </p>
<p>“Krile?” he calls softly. </p>
<p>“Here,” comes a quiet reply. “Hades?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” He carefully moves around the dividers, taking extra care as he sees the beds laid out in two rows down the left side of the room. A Lalafell in a bright yellow coat stands next to one of the beds, her hands outstretched as aether flows between her and the still shape next to her. “I was told you needed me?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know who else to call,” she says, exhaustion and resignation mingling with a frustration that goes deep. “They’re worsening for no apparent cause.”</p>
<p>It is a shock to realize the person she works on is no other than Thancred. The Hyur’s skin is waxy under the bright blue aether; his cheeks are sunken; his hair hangs limp against his temples. It is a ghastly change from the man Hades knows, and for the first time he begins to understand the danger the Scions are in. Without waiting for permission he moves closer, hovering his hands over the Hyur’s chest even as the Lalafell continues to channel aether.</p>
<p>“You want my opinion, or my aid?” he asks, still keeping his voice low. Tendrils of aether search and seek, and it is not difficult to find the root of the problem. </p>
<p>“Can you help them?”</p>
<p>“Not as you wish me to,” he murmurs. “Keep healing.” She groans with the effort, but he is entirely focused on the problem - Thancred’s missing soul, and the weakening connection between that which is gone and that which remains. “How quickly has he deteriorated?”</p>
<p>“It goes in bursts,” she says, just before, “Ah - there!” The light brightens for an instant before fading completely. “That should hold, for a little while at least.”</p>
<p>Hades keeps his hands outstretched. While he had known the Scions’ predicament taxed their mortal forms and bound their souls to the First, he had not considered just how dire the effects could be. “They are running out of time.”</p>
<p>“I know. Thancred went first, and he is considerably worse than the rest, but I am beginning to see the same signs in Y’shtola and Urianger.” She finally looks at him, taking in his third eye, his clothes, and the dark aether still pooling around his overturned hands. “Please tell me they’re close to a solution.”</p>
<p>“Somewhat,” he says, and if that isn’t the answer she wants at least she has the good graces to look relieved. “I am less of a help than I wish I was, however; I am unsure what exactly the Exarch did. It was a spell gone wrong, and the spell itself I am unfamiliar with.”</p>
<p>“It was powered by the Crystal Tower - I know that much. But for young G’raha to meddle with powers so far beyond him…!” She sighs. “I should not judge. He did what he believed best, but if it costs us the Scions -”</p>
<p>A gentle knock behind them cuts off her dark words, and they both turn towards the door. In the dim room it is difficult to see much of anything even now, but Hades’s heart suddenly soars.</p>
<p>There can be no mistaking <em> that </em>soul.</p>
<p>He leaves Krile behind to meet his hero as she comes around the corner. Her eyes roam over the beds, and the motionless bodies in them, before settling on Hades. Something reflects in her eyes he never expected to see - something so surprising it leaves him breathless - and he takes a step back, suddenly wary as she moves past him to speak with Krile. </p>
<p><em> Fear…</em>?</p>
<p>“Tataru says you wished to speak with me?”</p>
<p>“Had you come five minutes earlier I would have borrowed your healing powers, yes.” Krile attempts a smile as she gestures to Hades. “I remembered what you’d said about him, however, and he came first.”</p>
<p>“The healing was all you,” he says quietly, never taking his gaze off the Warrior of Light. Something is <em> wrong </em> - something has given her cause to worry, and he knows her well enough to understand that it isn’t the sight of her friends that is causing it. “Hero -“</p>
<p>She raises a hand, cutting him off, and gives him a look that chills him before turning to Krile. “May we talk elsewhere?”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes.” Krile moves past them to the door, her strange, childlike hood bouncing with every step. “Some light would be most welcome.”</p>
<p>“Hades.” Her voice halts him in place as he moves to follow. “Would you mind checking their aether? I know Krile is watching over them, but Beq Lugg wants to know if you have any other insights to share.”</p>
<p>She won’t meet his eyes. Why won’t she meet his eyes? He doesn’t immediately reply, hoping to stretch the silence until she has no choice but to look at him - but she stares, unblinking, at Alphinaud’s still form. </p>
<p>“Of course,” he says, his voice controlled, contained, calm - but his anxiety rises like a maelstrom. He watches her and the Lalafell leave before he moves to an empty bed and takes a seat. </p>
<p>What had happened on the First?</p>
<p>Had the Light returned? There is no reason for it to do so, no way for such power to accumulate so quickly; he dismisses the idea as quickly as it came. </p>
<p>Perhaps what they had seen with Thancred here had reflected a worse illness on the First. Perhaps her fear had been for her friends -</p>
<p>He shakes his head. No, she had avoided <em> him</em>. She is keeping secrets - closing him out. She hadn’t done that since…</p>
<p>With a small moan Hades cradles his head in his hands. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> “At least tell me where you’re going!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “For the last time - no!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He stares at her, her face hidden by her mask and her drooping hood. Anger and fear twist in his belly, urging him to do something drastic - but nothing he can do could contain her. No powers in his control could stop her.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Please -” he tries again, but she only moves further away from him.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “The idea you proposed to the Convocation - it’s a horrible idea! It’s atrocious! It is less a solution than a mess of half-formed hopes! You have no proof that any of that will work!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “The alternative is death!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Is that truly so horrible?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He chokes, and in that instant she teleports away.  </em>
</p>
<p><em> Emet-Selch turns back to the table behind him, placing his hands on the smooth wood as he focuses on drawing air into his lungs. Truly so horrible? Of course - of </em> <b> <em>course</em> </b> <em> ! Nothing could be worse! To have their immortal lives cut short by a fluke - by an accident? By something they did not cause and cannot contain? The injustice of it burns his chest, infuriates him, stirs him to action -  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> But the only way forward is dark, and dreary, and paved with bones.  </em>
</p>
<p><em> No - no, he will not doubt. If his idea - his </em> <b> <em>god</em> </b> <em> - can save them it is worth any price.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> If his god can save her there is nothing Emet-Selch will not do.  </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Hades - Hades, please!”</p>
<p>Hands on his face, cradling his jaw; her smell, there in front of him; her body warm against his knees as he sits on the spare bed. He reaches automatically and pulls her close, resting his head against her stomach as his arms wrap around her waist. His cheeks are damp and his voice ragged; he cannot be sure how long he sat unmoving and unaware. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>Rather than respond he focuses on the feel of her - her breaths, heavy and fast; her hands through his hair; her heartbeat, strong and sound. He could hold her like this for hours - for lifetimes - but as certain as he is that she is there, he is just as certain of the fear that had shone in her eyes earlier. </p>
<p>“What happened?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “What changed?”</p>
<p>She pulls away from him and he steels himself to whatever news she has as she crouches at his feet. In the dim light he can barely see her dark eyes, but he holds on to that connection even as he fears what might come of it.</p>
<p>“Elidibus is on the First.”</p>
<p>Still. So, so still. Moments trickle past as he holds his breath, as thoughts and fears overwhelm him. And then -</p>
<p>“Did he hurt you?”</p>
<p>She shivers. “No. We spoke. He is masquerading as Ardbert, inspiring the people to become Warriors of Light, but he neither avoids us nor seeks us out.”</p>
<p>“You spoke with him.” It feels as though he is playing catch-up, as though he started this race far too late; the players have already taken the field and he is still donning his clothes. “He continues to aim for the Rejoining?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she whispers, and he hears her intake of breath, followed by a hesitation, before she adds, “He said you’d made a mistake.”</p>
<p>“I made many,” he replies softly. “My life’s history is salted with them. But this - where we are now, what I have come to be - <em> this </em>is no mistake.” He reaches for her hands and finds new hope as she intwines her fingers with his. “You didn’t want to tell me.”</p>
<p>“I promised that I wouldn’t ask you to help.”</p>
<p>“You’re not asking,” he says softly. “I’m offering.”</p>
<p>“I need you back on the First. There are Ascians appearing - black-masked Ascians - and they’re attacking settlements that are only just beginning to relax after the sin eaters’ numbers were thinned. Thancred and Alphinaud are leading parties throughout Norvrandt - I want you with them.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” he says, though his thoughts scurry this way and that. Black-masked Ascians? Pretending to be a Warrior of Light? Ardbert? What the hell is Elidibus planning? “When do we leave?”</p>
<p>“Now. I don’t want to leave the Scions alone for long.”  She stands, tugging at his hands as she rises to force him to his feet. “Come on.”</p>
<p>He pulls her back before she can start to teleport, catching her in place. Her dark eyes meet his - the fear is gone, replaced by a wariness that worries him for different reasons. “You were scared of me. When you walked in the door -”</p>
<p>“No.” She shakes her head fervently. “Not you. Not -” She grabs his shirt and pulls him close enough that their noses almost touch. “Never. I’m scared <em> for </em>you. We have no idea what Elidibus is planning. If he means to hurt you -”</p>
<p>“He may try,” he growls, but she shakes her head. </p>
<p>“This is <em> my </em> fight, Hades. It has always been my fight. If I can keep you away from him I will.”</p>
<p>Like a bulb suddenly alight, Hades finally understands the fear in her eyes. “You are worried he may kill me.”</p>
<p>“Or find a way to temper you. We know he is Zodiark’s heart.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” How had they figured <em> that </em> out? He closes his eyes and attempts to find solid ground. “You want me with Thancred and Alphinaud? Where will you be?”</p>
<p>“Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> “Are you certain you must leave today?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She leans forward and pecks a kiss just below his mask. “I will be fine, Emet-Selch. I always am.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He nods even as he clenches his jaw. He cannot help but worry for her, out in the wilderness encountering who-knows-what with only the locals to help her. He can’t even say what kind of aid he would provide, but the urge is still there, silly as it may be. “Maybe one day I will accompany you on one of your adventures.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Her eyes sparkle. She knows he’s too busy to leave Amaurot. “I would like that.” She gently flicks the tip of his mask. “You do trust me, don’t you?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Of course - but I worry for you, too.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Do you worry for the sun as she travels across the sky? As she makes her way round through darkness to greet us again the next day? Even if the skies are grey you know it is only temporary. One day the rains will cease and you will see her again.” Her hands trail down his chest and around his waist, pulling him close with a look in her eyes that makes it hard for him to breath. “You know I’ll always come back.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “That’s a promise?” His voice is husky, his attention divided between her words and her hands. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Her answer is wordless - but it is enough. </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Hades?”</p>
<p>“You made me a promise, once,” he murmurs, pretending he doesn’t hear the layers of worry in her voice, pretending he isn't losing track of time as memories overpower what stands in front of him, pretending he is ready for what comes. “You said that - no matter how long it takes, or how much I might worry - you would always come back.” He opens his eyes to meet her frown. “I don’t know that you’ll be able to keep that promise if you face Elidibus alone.”</p>
<p>“Time will tell,” she murmurs, and then she steps towards the door. “Come on - we need to get moving.” Her hand moves to the pouch at her side as she gives him an odd smile. “I have a delivery to make.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You ever have one of those "I can't write shit" weeks and then someone leaves a delightful comment and 4200 words suddenly find their way onto the page? Fucking <em>magical</em>.</p>
<p>You're all lovely! Thank you for continuing to read this!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Ascian, Interrupted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That was almost embarrassing.”</p><p>Hades snorts. “You felt the same?”</p><p>Thancred sheaths his gunblade and shrugs. “I know we are obviously becoming more accomplished at what we do, but those Ascians seemed rather weak, all things considered.”</p><p>“Weak Ascians for weak heroes,” Alphinaud murmurs, his knuckles resting against his chin. Neither of the Scions look the least worked-up after their bout with the black-masked Ascians; Hades had not even needed to raise a finger. “Could Elidibus have played this trick before?”</p><p>Hades clears his throat. “Awkward as this may be, I can follow that train of thought to its inevitable conclusion and tell you yes, he has, not least of all with you and your Warrior of Light. How better to set one upon their path than to bolster their courage with something small?” He shrugs, noting the dark looks both Scions give him. “I would say my hero has surpassed all expectations on that front. I did not believe Elidibus willing to try this again.”</p><p>“For what purpose?” Alphinaud stresses. “He is a creature of darkness heralding Warriors of Light to his cause. What does he mean to do with them?”</p><p>Unnerved and unsure, Hades stays silent. He has a suspicion - but it is such an outlandish, preposterous, ridiculous suspicion! Elidibus would not go that far - </p><p>Wouldn’t he? The Emissary had separated himself from Zodiark! Had returned to them that he might guide them forward! How is Hades to argue that Elidibus would not go too far when he has already gone further than all others? Whether by desperation or godly guidance, Zodiark’s heart has chosen a new path to the First’s Rejoining.</p><p>It worries Hades that he cannot guess the next step.</p><p>“Come on,” Thancred says, leading them away from the small settlement in Lakeland. “We don’t want to keep Urianger waiting.”</p><p>Wearing a frown and a slouch, Hades follows the Scions.</p><p>*</p><p>Kholusia is more of the same. Warriors of Light inspired by Hades’s hero and Elidibus’s talks wander the fields near Eulmore, striking down monsters and Ascians alike. The Scions repeatedly arrive too late - the evil is defeated, they are told, as the First’s new Warriors brandish their barely-dented weapons in triumph. The shard is suddenly overtaken by adventurers hoping to test their might against every evil that comes across their path.</p><p>“Thou art correct in thy notion regarding these black-masked Ascians,” Urianger says, watching another crowd of heroes surge past them towards Stilltide. “Compared against the might of Elidibus these foes seem little more than fodder.”</p><p>Thancred and Alphinaud grimace. All of them stand at the crossroads leading to Eulmore, keeping apart from the adventurers and would-be-heroes scouring the land. While the roads are not <em> crowded </em>by these hopeful mortals, there are more than a dozen nearby.</p><p>“And you have no clue why he’s doing this?” Thancred demands, rounding on Hades with sudden open hostility. “Not even an inkling in that pretty head of yours?”</p><p>He does not reply. Oh, yes, he has an inkling, and he knows they will not thank him for it.</p><p>“Let us carry on to Eulmore,” Alphinaud suggests. “Perhaps Y’shtola and our Warrior have found what we need, or Alisaie and Ryne.”</p><p>“Onwards,” Thancred says, gesturing up the road. The Scions move first, eager to reconvene with their fellows, but Hades brings up the rear.</p><p>Meteor showers, awakening Echoes, rallies for aid and cries for courage - Hades knows this game, recognizes the steps to the dance, remembers what comes next - but something is different. The process of creating heroes is one not quickly-done; many die in the attempt, and it is only through trials and tribulations taken over a lengthy span of adventures that true heroes rise from the rabble around them.</p><p>Elidibus’s plan lacks <em> time</em>. Whatever his goals are, he must know the Scions are working parallel to combat him. He cannot continue this farce for months without being forced into a stand-off.</p><p>Hades is missing something - something he fears is obvious - but <em> what</em>? What is different? What gives the Emissary such confidence in his actions? </p><p>Gritting his teeth, he makes his way through the outskirts of Eulmore.</p><p>*</p><p>Initially they are early, but after Alisaie and Ryne arrive - reporting details from Amh Araeng that surprise none of them - it becomes clear that Y’shtola and the Warrior of Darkness are late. The Scions gather with the Chais near Eulmore’s aetheryte, claiming a small side of the space to themselves as they compare stories and theorize possible actions they could take.</p><p>Alone in a corner, back against the wall and arms across his chest, Hades watches. He watches the people pretend to go about their daily routines as though half of them hadn’t been awakened to ancient memories; he watches the Chais grow more and more agitated with every additional story from the Scions; he watches the Scions themselves looking more worried than they’d been during most of their adventure through the First. For most of them this is one more problem to be solved, one more Ascian plot that needs unraveling, but for Ryne this is a home on the brink of yet another catastrophe. This is a new enemy wandering through her realm, an enemy her friends are obviously terrified of yet who does not seem to play by the rules as they know them. Hades can only imagine what the girl thinks of this new situation.</p><p>When it comes down to it even <em> he </em> cannot be sure what he thinks of this. Having only turned his coat but recently it is an awkward place to be: his goals have changed but loyalty and friendship are chains he cannot be sure he is ready to sever. Elidibus and he were never the closest of friends, true, but they had worked together - lived together - <em> survived </em>together for millennia even before the Sundering. They had created a world full of life and meaning, a world full of vibrant souls eager to seek for the sake of seeking - to learn and grow and better their fellows around them. Even after the Sundering Elidibus had ever been one to keep to the path: to focus on the goal, no matter the cost. Hades had turned to him for help often enough, and the Emissary had always been eager to grant it.</p><p>Though it has been a particularly long time since they spoke of anything save future Rejoinings and the troubles that hinder their progress. Hades cannot recall the last time he and Elidibus sat down to <em> talk </em>- to really have a discussion, as had been their wont back in Amaurot. Even after Lahabrea’s death -</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> The Sundered Ascians are shouting - screaming - shrieking their rage and denial, their hatred and their pain - the Void is a hive of sound and anger, of dark bodies and dark power. Even the voidsent have fled, leaving the Ascians to their haunts, and as the remaining sundered souls unleash their flood of fury Emet-Selch can only watch from the shadows. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He feels emptied - hollowed - scooped and shucked and left behind -  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Lahabrea is dead. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Elidibus says the Speaker tumbled into madness millennia ago; that it was only a matter of time until he crossed the line; that the magic used against Nabriales could quite easily be turned against the Unsundered - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emet-Selch hadn’t listened. He’d earned his rest after Garlemald; he hadn’t wanted to hear warnings about some troublesome Warrior of Light out of Limsa Lominsa causing Lahabrea and Elidibus headaches. He’d retreated across the shards to his makeshift home beneath the sea, choosing to lose himself in memories. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now they have lost one of the Unsundered, one of the three survivors of the apocalypse, and Elidibus is staring ahead without seeing and for once Emet-Selch does not know what to do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where do they go from here? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What is there to say when they have lost their Speaker? </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>“She’s here!”</p><p>Hades startles out of his memories to watch his hero and Y’shtola hurry towards the group of Scions. The Miqo’te looks pleased, but Hades’s gaze is drawn immediately to the Warrior. </p><p>There are new bruises on her arms. </p><p>She sees him coming before he reaches her. “Don’t! Don’t lecture! Not a word!”</p><p>He doesn’t listen. One hand wraps around her wrist even as she tries to move away. The Scions all step forward, no doubt intending to tell him off, but the moment he turns her purple-and-blue forearm towards them they halt. </p><p>“He was there.” It isn’t a question. </p><p>“He was,” she says, her dark eyes meeting his. “He’s still alive. He left before I could finish him.”</p><p>Hades lets go of her and spins away, breathing heavily. There is a scream bubbling near the surface; a howl of terror and denial. He should never have let her go alone! He should have demanded he go with her! What fool is he to expect Elidibus to give them any kind of warning?</p><p>But she has always travelled without him. <em> Always</em>. Imposing restrictions on her now will do no good to any of them. </p><p>“Where did he go?” Alisaie asks behind him. </p><p>“We don’t know - he spoke of my lessers, whatever that means, and vanished.”</p><p>Where? Where would Elidibus go if not Amaurot? Where would he retreat to? Why would he make himself known and then leave? Hades turns, intending to ask if the Emissary had said anything more, but finds his hero giving him a strange, contemplative look. </p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>She shakes her head, clearly struggling to find the words - though whether that be any words at all or words that would not hurt him, he cannot say. “I’ll tell you later.”</p><p>He arches an eyebrow, but anything he might have said is cut off by a sudden cry.</p><p>“Oh, the sky!”</p><p>Everyone turns towards the nearest balcony at Dulia-Chai’s shout. What had been a beautiful blue sky is now a mass of ash-coloured clouds swirling low over the slate-grey sea, and from those clouds...</p><p>Crowds rush to the balconies, shouting over each other while they fight for a spot along the railing, but as Hades is jostled and bumped he cannot follow - cannot speak - cannot even see the others around him -</p><p>A ghostly Amaurot shimmers along the horizon, it’s metal spires glowing orange from the light of meteors cascading across the smoking sky. </p><p>Something splinters - some sense of self - some form of certainty he was not even aware he held on to - and here is there, now is then, the sky is aflame and he cannot move - </p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> His feet are rooted to the ground. Fire and ash blend the line between sky and ground; buildings and horizon are the colour of steel fresh from a forge. Screams echo all around him; cries for help; pleas for mercy; his people cannot combat the magics that turn against them, that twist free from their minds and spew nightmares into their city, their streets, their homes. Buildings topple like cards - one, into another, into yet another, and the sounds…! Crashing metal, shattering glass, creatures roaring and shrieking and eating - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Come this way! Now!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Amaurotines run past him, their shoulders and elbows shifting him forward as they hurry to follow whatever voice shouted with authority, but Emet-Selch cannot take his eyes from the horror around him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> How has it come to this…? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Emet-Selch!” Hands at his arms, grabbing and pulling. “We must away!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “But -” He looks around him; the air is molasses; his limbs are putty; he cannot focus. “Azem? Have you seen Azem?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He’s blabbering,” the figure next to him says. “Emet-Selch!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A second figure grabs his other arm. “Come on, old friend! It isn’t safe here!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “But Azem!” He looks over his shoulder even as they force him forward. The nightmare continues behind him, stretching on and on throughout his once-beautiful city. “She promised - I must find -” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The building nearest them shifts, tilting perilously close to the road they stand on, and his two companions drag him on even as the structure begins to fall behind them. The entire raised walkway buckles and bends with the weight of it and the three Amaurotines drop to their knees, holding on desperately as the surface reverberates with aftershocks in the wake of the building’s collapse. Dust and dirt shower down around them even as fire leaps up from beneath the road, licking at the trees along the curbs and the trailing ivy along the sides of the still-standing skyscrapers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Up! Get up!” </em>
</p><p><em> Emet-Selch allows himself to be pulled to his feet and shuffled onwards. His world is coming down around him and his heart his nowhere to be found - gone, long gone, gone far away without him, gone and left and gods, he hopes she is safe, he hopes she made it out, oh </em> <b> <em>gods </em> </b> <em> - </em></p><p>*</p><p>“ - please, Hades!”</p><p>He blinks. Pandemonium reigns around him: panicking mortals scurry down the stairs, into locked rooms and through the aetheryte network. The Scions’ attention is divided between the Chais and himself, while his hero grips his forearms hard enough to bruise. Desperation and fear eclipse every other emotion in her dark eyes; the moment he registers who she is - and where he is - she wraps her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest.</p><p>“Gods, Hades - you were just staring! At nothing! You couldn’t see me, or hear me - I didn’t want to touch you in case - in case -”</p><p>His hands shake as he tries to hold her. What to say? How to explain that he is quickly losing control of his memories - that what used to momentary flashes of lives past are now all-consuming mental traps? That the visions have sounds and smells? That he cannot tell past from present until it stands in front of him?</p><p>“We were attacked,” she says. “When you didn’t follow I thought - I thought you’d been -” She looks away, takes a deep breath, and meets his gaze once again. “We’re going to the Crystarium. <em> You </em>are going to Amaurot.”</p><p>“No.” He attempts to unravel himself from her grasp but she holds tight to his arms. “I’m coming with you.”</p><p>“I am <em> not </em> going to lose you.”</p><p>“So you would shuffle me away, hide me beneath the sea -”</p><p>She holds up his hand and releases it, revealing the tremors that run down his wrist into his very fingers. He snaps his hand down and glares at her even as he feels the nerves bubble in his chest. </p><p>What is <em> happening </em> to him?</p><p>“I will not risk another repeat of this, Hades,” she says, leaning in close so the watching Scions cannot hear her. “After all of this - after fighting as long and as hard as I have - if I lose you now…” She leaves the thought hanging, but Hades sees the conclusion. </p><p>“You won’t,” he says, but his hands shake and his breath is ragged and gods, what <em> is </em> this? What fear snakes through his veins? What demon plagues his thoughts? Why <em> now</em>? </p><p>The denial is almost as paralyzing as the confusion. </p><p>“We’ll take care of her,” Thancred says, moving closer to catch Hades’s gaze. “You have our word.”</p><p>What good are words? What good will promises do when she walks into a battle against someone just as powerful as he had been but lacking any of his reservations? What can she hope to do without white aetheryte or the blinding Light within her soul? He attempts to turn away, his frustration spilling over into curled fists and heavy breaths, but the Warrior grabs the front of his shirt before he can leave. </p><p>“Trust me,” she whispers. </p><p>“I want to,” he says, and if his eyes reflect the bleak resignation rising to drown him she does not react to it. “But you left me once.”</p><p>She takes a step back, releasing his shirt even as traces of hurt flicker in her eyes - hurt quickly buried. “Go to Amaurot.”</p><p>The Scions are already following Chai-Nuzz out to the airship landing. The inner floors of Eulmore are nearly deserted: everyone has fled or remains, starstruck, on the balconies overlooking the sea.</p><p>“You can’t do this on your own!” he says desperately. “Please -”</p><p>The look in those dark eyes cuts off everything he might have said. She knows - she <em> knows </em>- and yet still she leaves him here…? She leaves him - as she had many times so, so long ago - but this time is different! This time the foe she faces is one Hades knows best - is one Hades can help defeat as no one else can!</p><p>Except - </p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> A sea of stars, a sky of black velvet, an eternity at their backs -  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Elidibus in his white robes, his masked face impossible to read -  </em>
</p><p><em> The moon beneath their feet, cold and unmoving and dead - dead - dead like the world and their people and </em> <b> <em>Lahabrea </em> </b> <em> and - </em></p><p>
  <em> “I shall become Zenos,” the Emissary says quietly. “The star is listing too far, thanks to the efforts of their Mother’s latest pawn. It must needs be brought back to a place of Light.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And my role in this?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Keep Varis in line.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emet-Selch does not roll his eyes, but he had hoped himself rid of Garlemald after Solus’s death. “You are certain Zenos is the correct choice? The Eorzeans witnessed his end - I do not doubt they will come for you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “As Zenos - with Varis kept apprised of the mummery - I shall accelerate our plans for Black Rose. It must be him - who else has the authority?” The Emissary finally moves, tilting his head as he purses his lips. “So we two are what remains, after all this time.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We two…” Emet-Selch murmurs, and sorrow comes upon him in a wave. To be reduced to this…! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We will continue. We must. For the lost - for those we could not save - for Lahabrea.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emet-Selch doesn’t speak, but as he turns his gaze towards the small spot of light he knows is the sun - bright and distant and cold, cold as ice on this blasted rock circling his world - his thoughts echo his friend’s. </em>
</p><p><em> For those who did not return</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh boy oh boy we're almost there, it's almost the chapter I wrote this entire fic for (no pressure, me, just keep on keepin' on)</p><p>Thanks for still reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Look Alive, Sunshine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one's short. The next one is loooong.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Amaurot glistens around him. Tall towers, spiraling structures, vines and trees and life made from aether - </p>
<p>Hades doesn’t see it. His head is down, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched; he storms forward without a goal in mind, turning left and right at random, allowing his feet to lead him where they will as he batters his already-bruised sense of self beneath a relentless barrage of insults and belittlement. His heart, his other half, his sun finally risen, is risking her life while he has been forced to hide - to <em> hide </em>- yalms beneath the surface of the sea! In a memory! In a fictional recreation!</p>
<p>The irony is not lost on him; no, it bites cold as steel. </p>
<p>She hadn’t meant for it to hurt. She’d known he would have joined her - would have risked <em> everything </em> - but she’d wanted him safe.</p>
<p>And he, gods spare him, cannot be certain that he is still in control.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> “We will require a second sacrifice,” Mitron says slowly, looking around at the others.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I - I agree,” Nabriales adds, his voice stilted and timid. “To restore our world to the way it was.” He looks to the other members of the Convocation as though seeking reassurance.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Emet-Selch cradles his head in his hands. A voice is telling him to agree - to say yes - to consent to this waking nightmare even as he recoils from it.  </em>
</p>
<p><em> He has not felt </em> <b> <em>right </em> </b> <em> since their summoning succeeded. At first he had believed it to be shock - losing half of his people, along with Elidibus and Azem, would be devastating whether or not he was at fault - but as the days march on the feeling does not dissipate. He finds himself saying and doing things that are beyond his ability to control, having opinions on topics he’d never considered, and waking in places he does not remember being. His companions have reported the same, and while he knows they have endured monumental and traumatizing horrors that does not explain these - these - these </em> <b> <em>lapses</em></b><em>, these </em> <b> <em>deviations</em></b><em>, these -  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> His resistance gives way. “A second sacrifice, then.” The words are his voice and come from his mouth but -  </em>
</p>
<p><em> What </em> <b> <em>is</em> </b> <em> this? </em></p>
<p>
  <b> <em>What have they done?</em> </b>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Emet-Selch.”</p>
<p>He freezes as shock drives him out of his dark recollections. That voice strums at his heart and he moans with the pain of it, but <em> how </em>- </p>
<p>Slowly, barely daring to breath, he turns around. “Hythlodaeus?”</p>
<p>The shade stands a few fulms away. The cloaked form towers over him, so much so that Hades is forced to crane his neck to look up at that ancient mask, and it helps his pride not at all when the shade actually bends to rest his hands on his thighs. “What are you doing here, old friend?”</p>
<p>Hades can’t stop his huff of incredulous laughter at the unexpected ridiculousness of this meeting. “I don’t rightly know.”</p>
<p>“Ah - just as normal, then.” He can hear the amusement in his friend’s voice. “I assume you are aware that your better half is fighting with Elidibus.”</p>
<p>The burst of humour is gone. He looks away as shame worms through his chest; the urge to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness is unbearable. “Everything we did - everything we went through - I never meant for it to come to this! I never meant to become - to become -”</p>
<p>“I did not seek you out hoping for apologies and explanations,” Hythlodaeus says, his deep voice cutting across Hades’s attempts to speak. “I need them not. Whatever you do, I know you do it with your people in mind.”</p>
<p>“My people,” Hades whispers. He shakes his head even as he wraps his arms around his chest, as he feels more pieces of self drift and wander and fade. “Elidibus is one of those people. I cannot kill him, Hythlodaeus. I cannot stand across from one I knew as a brother and raise a blade.”</p>
<p>“No one is asking you to, dear Emet-Selch - Hades - Solus - <em> whatever </em>you are calling yourself these days. That you are here now, safe and tucked away, speaks to your love’s genuine desire to keep you from that path.” The shade leans closer. “But I do not believe you are capable of losing her twice.”</p>
<p>Hades moans and takes a step back. He knows, he knows, he <em> knows </em> - just the thought alone makes him want to crawl out of his skin. “Do you think she can do it?”</p>
<p>“Do you?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t have to answer; Hythlodaeus can read his expression easily enough. </p>
<p>The shade sighs heavily. “As painful as the loss of her would be, you must realize that - should she lose - you are also leaving the task of all future Rejoinings to Elidibus. I can understand not wanting to be the hand holding the blade, but do you truly want to condemn him to see this through as the last of the Unsundered?”</p>
<p>“No,” Hades whispers. Just the thought of the youngest of them - the proudest, the cleverest, the most dedicated - facing millennia more with only the Sundered for companionship tears a fresh wound across his heart. Having seen the other side of tempering Hades recognizes the chains must be broken - no matter the cost. “He does not deserve that fate.”</p>
<p>“And you do not need to be the one to end him, Hades, but that does not mean you cannot help.” Hythlodaeus stands upright; Hades could swear there is a twinkle in his eye as he carefully moves back one giant step. “I gave her the constellation stone you made for her.”</p>
<p>His lungs constrict. Hythlodaeus would have been kinder had he dropped Hades in ice-water; the shocked, numb feeling is nearly identical. “You were only to do so if I died!”</p>
<p>“You were close enough, by my reckoning. Besides, it has always been hers. Even now she is the Azem we both were drawn to.”</p>
<p>Before he can decide how he feels about <em> that </em> piece of information a strange surge of power ripples through the aether - an echo, a reverberation, a teleportation of immense strength - and his heart leaps into his throat. “He took her - he <em> teleported </em>her - Hythlodaeus!”</p>
<p>One enormous hand grasps his shoulder and holds him still. “I know, old friend. And you know how to get her out of there, don’t you?”</p>
<p>He takes a shuddery breath. He does - of course he does - how many times has he employed the same power himself? Tempered or not the power to cross the shards is still very much his own. “I’ll go - I’ll go to the Void. I’ll summon her back and - and - gods, I don’t know!” He pauses for a moment, a breath, and gives Hythlodaeus an odd look as something finally sinks in. “Did you call me Solus?”</p>
<p>The shade actually laughs! His shoulders shake as he covers his mouth with one hand. “Did you honestly believe I would be less nosy as a recreation? <em> Me</em>? You are my maker, Hades - you should know better than that!” He abruptly sighs and tilts his head to one side. “We never meant for you to carry it all, you know. It is too large a burden, and you - no matter how powerful you are - are only one man. Hythlodaeus would not blame you for all that followed.”</p>
<p>“I -" Hades gapes at him, rocked completely to his core, and in the silence the large shade waves cheerfully and begins to dissipate. “Hythlodaeus!”</p>
<p>Though the transparent shade’s mouth doesn’t move, his words span the distance just before he vanishes. “Good luck - my new-old friend.”</p>
<p>Hades is alone in Amaurot.</p>
<p>The nostalgia is unexpected. What he would not give to sit with Hythlodaeus again - the <em> real </em>Hythlodaeus, not this figment he has created - and watch the stars overhead with him; bother him with all of the Convocation’s gossip; listen to him and Azem bicker like children - </p>
<p>What he wouldn’t give…</p>
<p>Hades snarls. He gave <em> everything</em>, and what does he have to show for it? A collection of dolls in an underwater mockery of his home, a soul so marred he couldn’t recognize the man in the mirror, an existence riddled with guilt and shame and memories that tear the breath from his lungs - and for <em> what</em>? Did they truly believe life would return to normal - that they would brush off the murders they have all committed? That Zodiark’s tempering would suddenly vanish with the final Rejoining? Fools, the lot of them, for believing they could ever gain back what they lost and not be changed by what they’ve endured.</p>
<p>Elidibus will not see reason. Zodiark’s heart has no choice but to follow Zodiark’s will.</p>
<p>Before Hades can gather the aether to create a voidgate a golden invocation circle spirals out around his feet, branching off for fulms around him as the light brings sudden radiance to Amaurot’s perpetual twilight, like a sun revealed by parting stormclouds.</p>
<p>“My hero…” Hades turns on the spot, watching the ancient magic pulse even brighter, and the pride in his heart is outweighed only by his sudden fury. Whether he is angry at himself, Elidibus, or Zodiark he cannot say - but as the teleportation spell activates and he finds himself atop Syrcus Tower his focus narrows.</p>
<p>
  <em> “Elidibus!” </em>
</p>
<p>The elaborate caped figure in front of him spins, shock and horror rippling across its gorgeous face. It is a surprise to see the form Elidibus has taken, but he has ever been one for theatrics. Hades allows the aether to twist within his grasp. A long purple blade forms in his left hand - the same blade he’d used with the Exarch - and he spins it once to his side.</p>
<p>“After <em> everything </em> we have been through - after <em> millennia </em> together - <em> you </em> would strike me down?” Elidibus’s voice is bitter with disbelief as he stares across the expanse. “You - you <em> traitor </em>- you -”</p>
<p>“Oh, not I,” Hades says in a singsong voice. Almost lazily he raises his right hand in the air. “<em>Azem</em>, however, lacks any of my reservations.” Elidibus’s eyes widen at the name and he takes a step back, and if Hades feels a moment’s pity he does not let it sway him.</p>
<p>The sound of his snap bounces off the Crystal Tower like a gunshot. </p>
<p>A golden teleportation circle consumes the top of Syrcus Tower. Lines radiate out from it like a sunburst, like rays of light banishing shade, and as Hades lowers his hand a pillar of illumination bursts through the center. His heart soars at the sight of her - his Warrior, his hero, his Traveller - but even as she sees him Elidibus is already moving. </p>
<p>“Warriors of Light! To me!” </p>
<p>Bodies of light appear all around them. Dozens and dozens, <em> hundreds</em>, more and more and more. Hades cranes his neck back as the area around them fills with shining Warriors of Light brightening the space to nearly daylight, and though there is a moment of dismay he only grits his teeth harder.</p>
<p>A horde of Warriors of Light, led by the first of their kind -</p>
<p>And just he, a Steward of Darkness, with his Warrior of Darkness by his side. </p>
<p>He catches her eyes - her dark, wonderful eyes - and sees her smile. In the silence before the storm there is only her - his other half returned to him once more. Wrecked as his soul may be - cracked and shattered and ground down to the bare remnants - he finally recognizes his path to redemption.</p>
<p>He raises his sword even as she takes her staff in her hands, as the Warriors of Light around them lean forward, as Elidibus shakes with fury - and he waits for her to lead him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Stormclouds May Gather, Stars May Collide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A couple new tags for potential triggers/no-go zones. Please take a gander before reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His Warrior moves a breath before Elidibus does.</p><p>“Go!”</p><p>The horde descends upon them in a flurry as his hero sprints forward. A quick flick of his wrist and a large, dark bubble encompasses the space around Elidibus and the Warrior, cutting the half-souls off from their prey. He loses sight of her as the glowing bodies around them converge overhead, weapons raised, and Hades brings his sword around in a powerful horizontal slash. The glowing bodies offer no resistance: his blade slides through them like air as the aether holding them together explodes into motes of golden light.</p><p>These creatures dying in one hit is a pleasant surprise - at least until a warrior slams his axe against Hades’s sword with enough power to leave his arms feeling like jelly. The golden warrior pushes forward even as he snarls in Hades’s face, forcing him to give ground as axe pushes against greatsword - </p><p>Hades grimaces. This face-to-face business is best left to brutes.</p><p>A voidgate teleports him across the top of the tower; he reappears in time to watch the snarling warrior stumble forward. Hades flicks his fingers, letting loose a burst of dark energy, and doesn’t spare a second thought for that particular foe as a swarm of new Warriors surrounds him.</p><p>Holding the enormous sword in one hand, he cocks the other like a pistol. Squinting through one eye, he aims his extended finger towards each glowing soul that approaches him and mimes firing, unleashing a burst of power at each of them.</p><p>“Boring,” he snarls. “Dismal. Embarrassing.” Growling one word per shot, he continues as more and more come towards him. “Disgraceful. Thancred could do better. <em> Try harder</em>.” The area around him is awash with golden aether and swirling, shifting souls; he does his best to ignore the prismatic colours around him but the memories are just below the surface, lingering - creeping - <em> enticing </em>- </p><p>The last time he saw so many souls set adrift had been immediately following the final sacrifice.</p><p>“No -”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> The sky is a river of fragments. The colours are indescribable, unimaginable, unexpected - he stares, and stares, and stares. Tears run freely over his mask and under it, sliding down his cheeks and along his jaw like a lover’s caress - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But the lover is gone, gone, gone, and all Emet-Selch has left are ghosts. </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>“No!” Power erupts from him, exploding outwards in a massive dark wave. Dozens of glowing bodies burst into golden light even as Hades staggers to one knee, chest heaving as he fights to clear his head.</p><p>Not now, gods - please, not <em> now</em>!</p><p>He can see his hero inside the barrier he constructed, can see Elidibus call fire and ice in alternating forms, and though they both fight on he cannot tell if one has the upper hand.</p><p>He cannot think of her. He must needs look to himself.</p><p>Dragging himself to his feet, Hades flings out his left hand to the nearest pack of Warriors. A spikey, red ball of aether erupts in the middle of them, impaling half-a-dozen even as another pack appears on the other side. A flick of his wrist summons enormous dark arrows from the sky; each lands with a <em> crunch </em>against the blue crystal ground as they puncture scores of Warriors, but his sense of triumph lasts only as long as it takes for more portals to open, more souls to appear, more weapons to be aimed in his direction. Keeping his eyes off the kaleidoscope of souls shifting above them, Hades snarls at the nearest pack of Warriors even as he jumps towards them. </p><p>He’s Hades, fighting atop Syrcus Tower on the First, as he is Solus, fighting in the trenches as Garlean forces push forward; he’s an Allagan, his red eyes aflame as he battles the forces of Meracydia; he’s other warriors, other mages, other faces and bodies and lives. As he parries and dodges, elbowing noses and bringing his giant blade through bone and flesh and substances less definable, all the lies he has ever brought to life are echoed in his movements. </p><p>He has done this many times before, but it has never mattered quite like this. </p><p>Every action has led him to this point. Every death he orchestrated, every murder he conducted, every world he annihilated has been a stop on his map to reach <em> this </em> - this makeshift redemption, this end to the cycle, this halting of the process he began so very long ago. And - <em> gods</em>, he does not deserve it! He does not deserve to walk away from this tower - to have Elidibus and Lahabrea take the fall while he lives on, safe and sound in the arms of his long-lost Azem - but he <em> must </em> see this through! He must guarantee she lives to reach the other side, even if it costs him <em> everything </em>- </p><p>He hadn’t been born a murderer. He learned this ugliness, as he learned hatred and regret and how far a damned soul can sink; he adopted the mannerisms and methods of a far darker being out of desperation and pride and - as unbelievable as it seems now - the faint flicker of hope it allowed him. What price for happiness? What price for salvation? He had made his bid, tossed in his coin, bartered with the best magicks he had at his disposal -</p><p>He made a choice and the world suffered for it. <em> He </em> suffered for it, and he continues to! Every reclaimed recollection is a painful piece of himself that he cannot deny. <em> He </em> made himself into this, and if the guilt of it should drive him over the edge is that not justice?</p><p>
  <em> But she wants him to live…! </em>
</p><p>He catches sight of her dodging Elidibus’s sword, her long hair streaming behind her and her dark eyes fierce - concentrated - entirely consumed by the enemy before her. She’d worn that same look above Amaurot: absolute dedication. Total commitment. She fights for the future of her world - the future of <em> every </em> world, for every life whether she knows them or not. </p><p>And Elidibus - fighting against her for a world he barely remembers, for a promise he cannot recall making, for a people long turned to dust - Elidibus cannot see the worth in it. He sees fragments and pieces, like a shattered pot or a ripped cloth, and rather than admire what is left - repurpose what remains, seeing the beauty in what has accidentally been created and letting what once was exist only as memory - he would force the pieces back together. </p><p>Their mistake had been in assuming their people would thank them for it. </p><p>A surge of dark power absorbs the Warriors closest to him and presses on. A samurai leaps from the cluster of golden bodies and Hades parries once - twice - thrice before pushing him back and planting the heel of his boot squarely against the golden samurai’s chest. The soul explodes into showers of gold aether and Hades powers through it, meeting the next blade - and the next after that - roving around the ring surrounding his hero and Elidibus as his darkness slowly consumes light.</p><p>The first attack to pass his defenses is a surprise.</p><p>Stinging lines of pain radiate across his chest as a blade grazes his ribs; he dances back, hissing at the golden Warrior who snuck under his reach. Power crushes inwards as he curls his fingers into a fist; the ninja bursts into aether -</p><p>Another blade. Another line of pain. Another golden soul extinguished.</p><p>Exhaustion and lethargy pull at him, slowly at first, but as more and more Warriors of Light surround him he begins to work for every movement. Blood seeps into his clothes as sweat coats his skin, and yet still they come! On and on! </p><p>“This is <em> not </em>playing fair,” he growls, cleanly decapitating a white mage seconds before an arrow punches through his shoulder. A burst of aether takes care of that bard, but he doesn’t have time to deal with the wound - he snaps the shaft in half and continues fighting, working past the pain radiating through his back and arm.</p><p>If he unleashed <em> all </em>of his power - </p><p>If he became <em> Hades</em>, truly - </p><p>The shield around the Warrior of Light and Darkness would fall. Elidibus would be able to call on those golden souls, to mix their power with his own, and Azem could not stand against that kind of magic.</p><p>He staggers and shakes his head. Not Azem - not anymore - </p><p>Fire explodes in front of him and he skids backwards, choking as smoke blankets the tower and clouds his vision. Disoriented and nearly blind, he raises a hand to throw a dark magical barrier around himself. It is immediately barraged by an onslaught of attacks from every side; he grits his teeth as the golden horde unleash everything they have.</p><p>Showers of arrows - </p><p>Unending volleys of magical power - </p><p>Swords, and daggers, and blades of all kinds - </p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> “Are you willing to kill?” </em>
</p><p><em> He snarls. “It is a </em> <b> <em>sacrifice</em></b><em>, Hythlodaeus! Power, freely given! I am not taking anyone’s life!” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Answer my question.” </em>
</p><p><b> <em>Is </em> </b> <em> he willing? Has he </em> <b> <em>ever </em> </b> <em> been willing? He is a scholar, damn it! A researcher, an engineer, a man of intellect and power in a civilized world! He has never killed a conscious creature!  </em></p><p><em> But this - this ending that threatens all of them - that threatens the </em> <b> <em>entire future</em> </b> <em> of this star - this ending does not care for intellect or propriety or protocol. It doesn’t care for honour or dignity, history or vows needing to be kept - this ending cares for nothing but complete and utter annihilation. </em></p><p>
  <em> If the stakes are that high, does he not need to meet them? </em>
</p><p><em> “Yes,” he snaps, the word echoing around his chambers like a premonition - like a </em> <b> <em>promise </em> </b> <em> -  </em></p><p>
  <em> “I see.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emet-Selch shakes his head, frustrated and shamed by his admission. “And? What does that mean?” He doesn’t want to hear judgements but - this is his oldest friend! His closest companion! If anyone might judge him correctly it would surely be Hythlodaeus! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I see how important this is to you, old friend, and I apologize for ever doubting you.” One long-fingered hand rests on his elbow. “I will be the first of those sacrificed.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The anger immediately drains out of Emet-Selch. He sways, reaching out a hand to steady himself, and stammers, “W-what? You do not -” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “If my oldest friend is willing to kill, and my dearest friend is willing to leave everything she loves behind, I feel it is only right that I, too, add to this rush for salvation.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “But - but I never meant -” </em>
</p><p><em> “Never meant for it to be me? Why? Why </em> <b> <em>not</em> </b> <em> me?” </em></p><p>
  <em> He swallows hard. The truth is ridiculous - the truth is childish - the truth reveals how little he has thought this plan through. He cannot bring himself to put it into words - but Hythlodaeus knows, as he always does, and Emet-Selch turns away from the sad smile on his friend’s face. </em>
</p><p><em> “I trust you, Hades. Have faith in yourself as I do: the world will be saved because </em> <b> <em>you</em> </b> <em> fought to save it.”  </em></p><p>
  <em> “And if you’re wrong?” he whispers. “If we’re all wrong?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hythlodaeus suddenly laughs. “At least I won’t be around to see it!”  </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>Noble intentions. Desperate acts. An overpowering desire to save his world, no matter the cost - </p><p>Tempered, taunted, teased, and tricked; he’d believed! He had to! To do anything else would have meant admitting something had gone wrong, that he’d let down the people who believed in him, that every ounce of power spent had been wasted! Even with the Thirteenth shard ruined! Even knowing the fragments would not be the same! Even knowing <em> he </em>would not be the same!</p><p>Blows hammer against his magical barrier, draining his power even as he stands with head bowed, chest heaving, eyes on the crystal ground at his feet. He is in danger - <em> she </em> is in danger - but how is he to know this is the right path? How can thirteen of the wisest people in history have been so utterly <em> wrong</em>?</p><p>Azem had known. Azem had denied their god from the very start. Though she had lacked any method to avert the Final Days, she had understood - had <em> accepted </em>- that their world had been irrevocably changed. </p><p>There could be no going back. </p><p>Hades’s shield shatters; he watches it burst into scintillating shards reflecting every colour under the sun as the horde of golden bodies press closer, and through the glistening rainbow of aether he glimpses his dark-eyed hero - his one and only Azem.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> “These are ingenious,” Lahabrea says, holding his own small stone up to the light as he closes one eye. “A marvel of creation magic, if you’ll pardon me the flattery. One for each of us, you said?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emet-Selch gestures to the myriad of multi-coloured constellation stones on the desk between them. “Us, and those we lost. Elidibus believes we may imbue their fragmented souls with the power and skill of those who came before - not a complete restoration, of course, but something near enough to gather our friends back into the fold.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ingenious,” the Speaker mutters again. His face twists with sudden misery and longing, and he quickly passes a hand over his eyes. “I - I’m sorry, Emet-Selch. I find myself - tired. Much too tired. I will return on the morrow to discuss how best to utilize these - but a question, before I leave.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Anything, my friend.” </em>
</p><p><em> “One for each - for every soul we lost.” Lahabrea holds his stone in the palm of his hand. “For </em> <b> <em>every </em> </b> <em> soul?” </em></p><p>
  <em> Emet-Selch meets his gaze. “Every soul on the Convocation.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Lahabrea’s gaze drops back to the desk, counting the twelve remaining stones, before he finally sighs and slips his stone into a pocket. “Forgive me. I know how temptation can play with one’s better judgement -” He cuts himself off and purses his lips. “But I must be off. Thank you for this gift.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Of course.” He watches Lahabrea leave - hears the door click behind him - waits long seconds until he senses the shift in the aether that is a teleportation spell -  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Only when he is sure the Speaker has left his domain does he pull out the fourteenth constellation stone from a chest pocket. He holds the amber crystal in his curled fingers, clenching his teeth as he gazes at the simple circular carving upon its face. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Her hand against his jaw, soft and comforting as she leans close - </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>“You know I’ll always come back.”</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Blinking back tears, he pockets the stone and closes his eyes.  </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>“Hades!”</p><p>A magical shield suddenly envelopes him, glowing first bright white and then fading to something less blinding. Hades blinks through the light, past the roving horde around him towards the doorway leading to the center of the tower.</p><p>He would <em> never </em>have expected to feel such sharp relief at the sight of G’raha Tia.</p><p>The crystalline Miqo’te barely spares him a glance as he rushes forward: the Exarch’s attention is on the two Warriors within Hades’s dark barrier.</p><p>“Took you long enough!” </p><p>G’raha’s crimson eyes flicker to him for an instant - the tiniest hint of exasperation - before he plants his staff against the crystal ground. “Break!”</p><p>If it feels cheap to take shots at creatures bound in place Hades powers through that feeling without hesitation. Black and purple aether surge through every golden Warrior he can reach as Allagan magic annihilates the rest. G’raha doesn’t stop there: even as Hades stands gasping before the dark bubble - where Elidibus and his hero continue to battle within storms of aether - the Miqo’te pushes past him, past the barrier itself, and joins the Warrior of Darkness with his staff held high.</p><p>Hades’s heart crystallizes as he realizes what the Exarch has come to do.</p><p>He does not want to witness this.</p><p>Power thrums through the tower under his feet. The sheer strength required to create such a vortex staggers him; he finds himself falling to one knee as wind screams around him, as aether jostles him, as he attempts to withstand the maelstrom consuming the top of Syrcus Tower. </p><p>White auracite; dragons’ eyes; his very own Allagan tower: underestimated and unexpected, he could not have guessed his people could end like this. </p><p>And it <em> is </em> an ending, of that he is certain: while his hero had decided to spare his own life he knows G’raha Tia does not have similar intentions so far as this Warrior of Light is concerned. What comes next is no different to what Lahabrea faced, alone and desperate in Azys Lla -</p><p>No - not alone. </p><p>Not this time. </p><p>Hades forces himself to his feet. The torrent of Light aether ahead of him is a blinding column, a mass of energy beyond the small, dark silhouettes of the Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness, and though he wants to turn away he faces forward. Seemingly forgotten by the two heroes in front of him, Hades watches this ending through tear-blurred eyes.</p><p>“Elidibus…”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> Unlike every time before, Hades is an observer in these memories. He floats to one side, hands thoroughly jammed in his pockets, and stays silent as history unfolds before him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Amaurot. Dust and smoke covers the city in a haze; though the sun does its best to peek through it merely brings dim light to the mess beneath the clouds. The city is ruined; toppled; charred, and as Hades’s memory drags him forward bile builds in the back of his throat.  </em>
</p><p><em> Akadaemia Anyder. If he could dig in his heels and turn tail he would - he would! Of all the places in this world - on every shard - this is the one that </em> <b> <em>still </em> </b> <em> pains him most.  </em></p><p>
  <em> The auditorium is barely recognizable as such: what the Final Days hadn’t destroyed the Sundering had. The ceiling lies in great chunks throughout the room, among scattered seats and the remains of hundreds of books. Hades expects to see the robes of his fallen people - those who had joined together to summon Hydaelyn - but they are gone. Not a single body remains, not even - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He pulls his attention away from the front of the classroom. A figure scurries among the seats: the white-robed individual slips and skids across ash and debris as he desperately tries to reach the lone black-robed body tossed haphazardly across a row of seats. Hades recognizes his own red mask as Elidibus begins to shake him to consciousness. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hades watches himself finally wake, watches himself take in Elidibus - robes stained grey, mask cracked, hands shaking - and watches himself realize where he is. It hurts even now to stand where Azem died; he does not want to remember the thoughts that went through his head. In desperation past-Emet-Selch begins scrambling to the bottom of the room, ignoring every word from his friend as he uses aether to blast away the giant pieces of the ceiling that cover the floor. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hades knows what he sought, and knows he did not find it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He turns his attention to Elidibus even as his past self begins to sob. Tears leave clean tracks through the grime smeared across the Emissary’s cheeks and jaw and it is relief - not fear, or confusion, or misery - that shines in his bright eyes.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How long did you search?” Hades asks quietly, knowing the figment of memory cannot hear him. “How long were you alone? How long did you believe you were the only survivor?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There is no answer, and he realizes there never will be.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He should have asked millennia ago.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The memory changes. Hades recognizes Lahabrea’s laboratory immediately, though it looks nothing like the cluttered space it had been prior to the Final Days. Feathers, scales, and blood coat every flat surface; the Speaker himself is sprawled under his desk, limbs askew as though tossed there. Elidibus and Emet-Selch work together to rouse him, but Hades knows what happened, knows what was said, and he turns to look at the cages instead. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bars are bent at strange angles; locks are sheared or shattered. Even the smallest cages are messed by frantic activity - cages that housed the most delicate, most gentle creatures! Cages built to hold domestic pets! Shelves are knocked over; books and papers scattered; scratches and aether residue marr the furniture and walls - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “They panicked, you see - when everything went strange near the end.” Lahabrea’s shaky voice cuts through Hades’s observations. “They didn’t understand. How could they? If I could have told them they’d be safe - if I could have calmed them…! But I - I -” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hades remembers what came next: though neither Elidibus nor Emet-Selch were healers, they focused all of their energy into the wounds across Lahabrea’s face, torso, and arms. Claw marks, teeth marks, burns - though they healed every ilm, nothing they could say or do would convince the poor Speaker that he had made the right choice when he turned his power upon his own, beloved creations.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The last memory is much later - whether months or years he cannot be certain. Elidibus and his past-self sit together on the tallest surviving building in Amaurot, their legs dangling over the ledge as they watch a bloody sunset. Though past-Emet-Selch is much the same as he had been before the Final Days - garbed in black with a flash of red across his eyes - Elidibus has removed his own mask. Tears dampen his cheeks as he stares out at the wash of colours setting the evening sky ablaze: oranges, reds, and the deepest, darkest blues. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I should never have done it,” Elidibus murmurs. In the silence that comes from a deserted world it is not difficult to hear him. “Had I remained a part of Zodiark He would have been fit to challenge Hydaelyn. Had He still possessed His heart…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Past-Emet-Selch shakes his head. “You cannot know that for certain.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Can’t I?” A bittersweet smile does not hide the guilt and misery in the Emissary’s eyes. “I made a choice, and it was the wrong one.” The smile vanishes as he looks down to the mask in his hands; his next words are a pained whisper. “It was the wrong one.” </em>
</p><p><em> “It wasn’t your choice alone,” Hades argues, though he knows neither Elidibus nor his past self can hear him. He moves to the other side of the Emissary and crouches at the ledge, leaning forward in a desperate attempt to glimpse his friend’s face. “We called for you to return! We </em> <b> <em>begged </em> </b> <em> for you to hear us! Had we only been able to resolve our indecision without you…” He trails off, dropping his chin to his chest. “But you were the Convocation’s heart, just as you were Zodiark’s. We could not fix our world without our Emissary.”  </em></p><p><em> “I promise I shall undo this,” the memory says, still reciting the words Hades hates to hear. “I promise you, Emet-Selch, with everything I am: our people shall return once more! The world </em> <b> <em>will </em> </b> <em> be saved!” </em></p><p>
  <em> Even as past-Emet-Selch nods, Hades covers his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to see any more of this. He doesn’t want to witness the beginnings of the end - of their largest, most desperate mistake. “The world has already been saved,” he murmurs through his fingers. “The Final Days were averted. This - this world, and the thirteen mirrors - they never needed us. They would have gone on effortlessly without us. Our people would have become myths - legends! Except -” He pauses, dropping his hands to stare sadly at Elidibus’s tear-stained face. “We couldn’t stop fighting. We couldn’t stop searching for a way back - but was that us, or was that Zodiark? Even here - how am I to know if you spoke of your own volition? How am I to know if Zodiark’s heart is capable of speaking with his own tongue?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Silence, but -  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He knows this answer. As the memory fades and Hades is alone in the Void, he recalls just how often Zodiark twisted his own thoughts. He had been powerless to stop it; Lahabrea and Elidibus too would have been nothing more than mouthpieces in the face of that dark, shifting power. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It was not long after that moment in Amaurot before Hades created the constellation stones; when they perfected their ability to cross the shards; when they resurrected poor imitations of their brothers and sisters to join them in their pursuit of the world they lost. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shortly after they became thirteen instead of three was when Hades and Lahabrea began to quarrel. Friends always know where to hurt each other best, having borne witness to each others’ inner demons and deepest fears, and it was not long before neither of them would speak to each other. Millennia of companionship lost over bitterness; frustration; desperation; the need to point fingers! The need to assign blame! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Elidibus never called them on it. Hades knew, even then, that the Emissary was trapped in his own head. </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>The light fades. Hades wipes both cheeks with the back of his hands as a gentle white mist - swirling and cascading like glitter caught in a slow-moving stream - finally begins to dissipate. </p><p>Elidibus kneels in the center of Syrcus Tower.</p><p>Hades pushes past the Exarch and his hero wordlessly. Ignoring the pain and bone-deep exhaustion dragging at his body; the blood and sweat soaking through his shirt; the voice in his head demanding he check on his hero - he moves forward to drop to his knees in front of the small, white-robed Emissary. Though he wants to reach out a hand he cannot be certain there is anything left to touch. “My friend…”</p><p>The red-masked face lifts at his voice. “Emet-Selch?”</p><p>“I’m here.”</p><p>“My brother.” He is so small - almost childlike - but that voice is unmistakable, just as the wisps of gently-glowing soul that leak from him are undeniably his. “My brother, I - I made such a mistake. Zodiark would have triumphed had I not - had I not -“</p><p>“No.” He shakes his head and drags the words out, forcing himself to give them voice even as his blood splatters to the crystal floor. “<em>We </em> were the mistake. <em> Our survival </em> was the error that led to this nightmare.”</p><p>“But we -” Elidibus cuts himself off as the Warrior of Darkness kneels with them. His eyes widen as she opens her hands over the floor, and at the gentle clatter of rocks against crystal Hades finds himself blinking back tears.</p><p>A rainbow of colourful stones rests between them, glimmering in the strange glow from the remnants of the Exarch’s spell, and Elidibus hurries to gather them into his lap.</p><p>“My friends - my brothers and sisters -” The Emissary clutches handfuls of constellation stones to his chest as he looks to the Warrior of Darkness. “And a surprise sunshower on this, the greyest of days -”</p><p>The Warrior smiles a watery smile, but as she turns towards Hades even that fades. Her dark eyes convey what he does not have the heart to ask, and the weight of responsibility falls to him.</p><p>“Elidibus…” More pieces of soul slip free, glistening and shimmering and fading up, up, up as Hades is helpless to stop them. “I am sorry, my friend. For Zodiark, and your forced return, and all that came after. I am sorry you alone walked that path.” His hero’s hand slides into his and he grasps it as tight as he can. He has an eternity of regrets with bare moments to spare - he knows not what to say or do as this remarkable life ebbs away with every breath.</p><p>“There is much I do not remember,” Elidibus says quietly, looking down at the stones in his hands. Light leaks from his robes as gentle whispers of aether rise and coil around him. “But I always held fast to that very first day: the day I became Elidibus, and found my thirteen greatest friends.” His fingers curl around the stones as he looks up, past Hades and his hero and the heights of Syrcus Tower behind them, up to the deep blue sky beyond. “I only wish I might see them one last time...as we once were...” Softly - almost imperceptibly - the Emissary’s small, timid shape begins to brighten. “Did we not deserve to live…?”</p><p>The dim glow gradually manifests into a blinding spot of aether before dissipating just as it reaches its brightest point. Hades senses the shift - the release, the emptiness, the void where there has always been power - and what remains of Elidibus’s soul drifts upwards. He tilts his head back, watching wordlessly as the beautiful trails of colour bob and weave through clear air, soaring higher and higher until they meet the crystal of Syrcus Tower.</p><p>Hades exhales a wavering, shaky breath. “We lived well,” he murmurs. “But our time is done.” Warm arms suddenly wrap around his neck and he pulls his Warrior in close, burying his nose in her shoulder as shivers run through his limbs. Something between a sob and a wheeze rattles free from his lungs; he closes his eyes and curls his bloody fingers into her hair as he finally begins to weep.</p><p>He does not recall much of what comes after.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> This memory is hazy. Unlike most recollections, which rise to drown him unbidden and unwanted, this he pulls into focus through the need to remember -  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To remember his people.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To remember where they came from. </em>
</p><p><em> To remember </em> <b> <em>this </em> </b> <em> beginning. </em></p><p>
  <em> Twelve black-robed souls gather beside and behind him. He cannot recall where they were; the space is a cloud of darkness beyond the immediate vicinity of him and his companions. Standing only a few fulms in front of them is an Amaurotine garbed in white - a young, level-headed soul, wise beyond his years and eager to take up his new responsibilities. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Welcome, Elidibus,” says a voice that might have been his own. “Welcome to your new family.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The white-garbed Emissary smiles - hesitant at first, but joy spreads across his face as the members of the Convocation move to greet their fourteenth member. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Concrete Feet (The City is a Drag)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Rotate your shoulder for me, please.”</p>
<p>Hades does as asked, puffing out his lips as sharp bursts of pain radiate towards his elbow and neck. The fragile, new skin does not tear, but the muscle underneath protests the movement.</p>
<p>“Can you lift your arm over your head?”</p>
<p>This proves more challenging. He makes it just past horizontal before his arm refuses to go any further. He drops it to his side, frustrated by the lack of substantial progress. </p>
<p>“Better than before.” The chirurgeon moves to her desk, leaning over it to make a few quick notes on her clipboard, before returning to stand in front of him. “Now, if you could bring both palms in front of your chest - like so - and push against each other -”</p>
<p>He does as asked, ignoring the cool breeze against his bare chest and the murmured voices of nearby healers and patients; his focus is on the small bursts of pain, the discomfort, the <em> aftermath </em> that is not nearly as bad as it could have been yet is barely a fraction of what he should have paid. </p>
<p>It has been two nights since Elidibus died. Even now it does not feel real, as though the Emissary has played yet another trick and will meet them upon the field when least expected - but Hades has more than enough experience to know the difference between dead and <em> dead</em>. His friend is gone, just as Lahabrea is gone, and Hades…</p>
<p>He goes through the motions. He eats; he tries to sleep; he even makes passing attempts at pleasantries when the Scions approach him. He is doing his best - but he has no idea what his best even is! Where does he go from here? What does he make of himself now?</p>
<p>How does he move past the weighty thoughts miring him in the past?</p>
<p>He has not seen much of his hero over the past few days. She, too, is dealing with grief: in the aftermath of their battle the Exarch had finally lost his fight against the all-consuming nature of the tower. A small crystal contraption of G’raha’s own design holds what they hope is his soul, but until they return to the Source they cannot test it. </p>
<p>“One more healing should do it,” the chirurgeon says, again scribbling notes on her clipboard. She gazes up at him over her half-moon lenses. “I spoke with the Warrior of Darkness earlier; her healing is coming along just as well as yours. Should you prefer her to finish the process, her aether should be sufficiently recovered to do so tomorrow morning.”</p>
<p>“I -” He glances down at the pink scars across his torso - some of which cross the massive healed scar through the middle of his chest - before rubbing his fingers against the star-shaped wound in his shoulder. “I will speak with her.”</p>
<p>“That’s enough for today, at any rate. You’re free to go about your business.” </p>
<p>“Thank you.” He moves away from her desk to a chair near the wall; he’d tossed his vest and shirt over the back before her check-up began. He is halfway through buttoning up his shirt when he hears a delicate cough over his shoulder, and twists his head. “Here to enjoy the view?”</p>
<p>Thancred snorts. He leans against the doorway, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. “Nothing to enjoy about scar tissue, in my opinion. I’m merely here to see how you’re coming along.”</p>
<p>Hades finishes with his shirt and grabs his vest, finding it much easier to focus on his clothes instead of the Hume. “And? Any other opinions on the state of this Ascian?”</p>
<p>“Too many to voice, but only one that matters. You need to talk to her.”</p>
<p>His fingers slip and his vest slithers through his grip to land in a puddle of fabric at his feet. Bending to snatch it, he keeps his head down as he shrugs the black cloth over his shoulders. “Do I?” </p>
<p>“Even a fool can see that.”</p>
<p>He fumbles with the buttons; his mouth is dry and his mind blank as he tries - and fails - to think of a convincing reason he has been avoiding the Warrior of Darkness. “A fool should keep his nose in his own business.”</p>
<p>“She <em> is </em>my business.”</p>
<p>Hades’s head snaps up to meet the gunbreaker’s glare. “What does it matter? Surely -”</p>
<p>Thancred pushes away from the doorframe. Though he makes no move towards Hades, that simple shift is enough to still Hades’s tongue. “I care for her. As we all do - every Scion and soul who tumbles into her path wants nothing more than her happiness. You, for reasons I cannot understand and will never attempt to explain, make her happy. For the two of you to avoid each other <em> now</em>, after fighting so far…”</p>
<p>Hades drops his gaze to fiddle with the last of his buttons. “It isn’t what you think it is.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care what it is. I <em> do </em>care that the two of you are letting this fester, and I speak from experience when I say nothing good will come of avoiding it. Talk to her, Ascian.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Evening finds him atop Syrcus Tower. Grey clouds pass in patches over a deep purple sky; stars twinkle in and out, though they are dim compared to the light given off by the blue crystal. Water laps gently along the edges of the platform, stirred in its golden channels by the ever-present wind, but there is no other sound in this lonely, crystal place. What remains of the Crystal Exarch stands still and sombre; even the Allagan staff has been fused into bright blue crystal. If Hades ducked to look beneath the hood he’d see the familiar Miqo’te - crimson eyes turned cerulean - but he stays where he is.</p>
<p>In another timeline Elidibus is alive. In another timeline they work together, having successfully brought about the Eighth Rejoining, and move ever closer to the final stages of their ultimate endeavor.</p>
<p>In another timeline the Warrior of Light and Darkness is dead.</p>
<p>Time travel is not an option. With the Tycoon destroyed it would require returning to the Source and piecing together Alexander - and for what? What would he do in that other-world, that future where none of this happened? What would he tell Elidibus and himself-of-the-future to convince them to give up this drawn-out affair?</p>
<p><em> Something</em>. He would tell them <em> something</em>. If he could only think of the words…</p>
<p>“Oh - !”</p>
<p>He twists at the waist, glaring back at the tower doorway and whoever has disturbed his quiet space, but the anger fades the moment he sees the white-eared Viera. He takes a step to one side and gestures towards the Exarch, implying she should join him.</p>
<p>Captain Lyna steps forward gingerly, her eyes on him even as she moves in front of the crystal statue. A bouquet of lavender and tiger lilies fills her arms, and when she notices him looking at it her face flushes red.</p>
<p>“I simply thought - for remembrance -”</p>
<p>“I can leave, if you prefer -”</p>
<p>They both pause, flustered as they talk over each other, but she speaks first. “No, no - you have just as much right to be here as I do.”</p>
<p>“I hardly think so,” he says dryly, but he takes a few steps away and crosses his arms over his chest. The Viera stoops and drops the bouquet at the statue’s feet in one quick movement, as though embarrassed by her show of fragility, before rising with her arms crossed tight over her chest. If she cries she does so silently; Hades keeps his gaze on the crystal statue in front of them in an attempt to offer her some small measure of privacy.</p>
<p>“So often we believe the people we love will be with us forever,” Lyna says after a few moments, her voice so quiet Hades nearly misses it. “It is jarring to realize they are not the constant force we think they are.”</p>
<p>He clenches his jaw against the emotions threatening to choke him. Working past his own inner maelstrom, he focuses on the Crystal Exarch. “I understand you two were close?”</p>
<p>“He raised me,” she says, and there is a touch of humour within her accent. “I never questioned his long life, strange as that may seem. Perhaps it is because I am Viis - or perhaps he simply seemed too great a power to ever not be here. The Crystal Tower without its Crystal Exarch? I could not fathom such an idea.” She shakes her head even as she wipes tears from her eyes. “Childish fantasies. I watched him change even as our world changed around us. I should have realized there is always a cost.”</p>
<p>“You’ve heard what the Scions hope to do when they return to their world…?”</p>
<p>“Bah.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Am I pleased for them? Do I wish them luck? Of course. But <em> I </em>am still without him, and for now I think I will lean into a little selfishness.” She salutes the statue, her expression turning stoic for a moment before her softer side again wears through, and then nods to Hades. “Good evening, ser.”</p>
<p>“Lean into selfishness?” Hades murmurs once she departs, his gaze falling to the flowers at the Crystal Exarch’s feet. “I hardly think I deserve such a treat, but -” He pauses and rests one knuckle against his chin. The problem, when posed as such, is that he cannot decide which path is the selfish one.</p>
<p>To forgo this world and delve into Alexander’s technology so that he may jump across time - forwards, to the future the Exarch came from, or backwards, to the world he left behind?</p>
<p>Or to eschew his people in every timeline and commit himself entirely to this world, here and now, with the Source and its remaining shards, with these Scions - who are not the Convocation and will never be the Convocation - and this hero, this Warrior of Light, this soul he is drawn to no matter the time or place?</p>
<p>“I hardly deserve to stay,” Hades tells the silent statue. “As you hardly deserved to die. For all our power and knowledge it seems fate seeks to trump our abilities at every chance. As for Elidibus and Lahabrea…” He looks behind him to the rising heights of Syrcus Tower as he raises his right hand. “This is hardly half of what <em> they </em>deserve, but for now...” He snaps his fingers, listening to the sound bounce off the blue crystal around him as dark aether swirls and solidifies on either side of the statue, like black and purple clouds coalescing in mid-air, and as Hades turns to make his slow, steady way back into the tower he gives a last, lazy wave over his shoulder.</p>
<p>He is already down the stairs by the time the two purple statues take their shape.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The Scions are gathered in the Wandering Stairs when Hades finally finishes his leisurely descent to the bottom of the tower. There are <em> many </em>noisy patrons throughout the tavern even at this hour - celebrations promise to persist for the next week at least - and the six Scions are no different, talking and laughing and acting as Hades has never seen them. Lyna sits with them, one ankle resting on the opposite knee with her arm slung over the back of her chair, looking the most at-ease she’s ever been as she watches Thancred’s animated rendition of some battle or brawl. </p>
<p>Wary hesitation slows Hades’s already-meandering pace. He had intended to claim a table for himself, to have a private drink among the revelers as he absorbed the atmosphere, but to sit alone with the Scions nearby feels both awkward and standoffish - and while he is admittedly both, he cannot continue to measure himself by his differences.</p>
<p>Thancred catches his eye mid-sentence, and without dropping the beat of his story he reaches beside him to drag out another chair. His attention returns to Lyna but the implication is clear.</p>
<p>Hades stares at the empty chair for a heartbeat - two heartbeats - three - before stuffing his reservations in a dark corner, strapping cockiness to his swagger, and joining the Scions for dinner.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Amaurot. Though it approaches midnight above the sea, his city of memories remains locked in perpetual twilight. Time is redundant below the waves, as he has subverted time itself in bringing this place to life as it once was.</p>
<p>If he could subvert time once through memories, could he not investigate Alexander…?</p>
<p>Hythlodaeus finds him deep in thought, perched atop one of the Capitol’s many terraces, his legs dangling off the edge with his elbows resting on his knees. He senses his old friend’s presence before the shade speaks, but Hades remains staring forward - watching the lights of his city as dark figures move throughout its many streets.</p>
<p>“I did not think to see you here again,” the shade says quietly, still keeping his distance. “Not after…”</p>
<p>“You two talk, do you not?” Hades asks, his tone purposefully casual. “You and the Warrior.”</p>
<p>“She often wanders these streets. While I do my best not to seek her out, we have had the occasional conversation. It was she who told me about your past in her world, and of your growing distaste for this city.”</p>
<p>“What did she tell you?”</p>
<p>“No more than I could surmise with my own eyes and empathy: Amaurot is too closely-bound to the agony that haunts you. To stand amongst these glittering tombstones is little better than locking yourself in memories, and both do little for your health.” The shade moves to the ledge, lowering himself to dangle his feet as he sits beside Hades. “Why are you here, my friend?”</p>
<p>Hades takes a wavering, shuddery breath. Voicing these thoughts aloud gives them a power they would not have were they trapped within his own mind - but to keep them within, to hold to secrets and avoid painful truths, will do nothing for him now. “I considered bringing it down. Every brick, every leaf, every mote of aether. Every memory. They are <em> my </em>memories, are they not? And if I should want to take them back, is that not my right?”</p>
<p>“But…?”</p>
<p>“It would hurt her to destroy it,” he murmurs. “She doesn’t remember, Hythlodaeus - she doesn’t remember any of it, but to take this place from her would be akin to admitting it is time to move on.” He turns his head to see the large figure has shrunk down to his own size. “I do not believe she is ready for that.”</p>
<p>“She is just discovering what you are already eager to leave behind,” Hythlodaeus agrees. “She will ask questions. She will want confirmations or clarifications. Myself and the other shades will answer what we can, of course, but only you stood beside her on the Convocation. Are you prepared for those kinds of queries?”</p>
<p>“Won’t I have to be?”</p>
<p>“Not if she loses you to painful memories with every question she asks.” Hythlodaeus gently knocks him with an elbow. “I am well aware that the two of you are overly fond of the word ‘yes’, but you must prepare yourself to say ‘no’ more often. She will understand.”</p>
<p>Hades looks away. “I am not used to being fragile.”</p>
<p>“Fragile? <em> Fragile</em>?” The shade starts to chuckle, his robes shifting as his shoulders shake. “I doubt a single soul across this realm <em> and </em> the Underworld would consider you fragile! ‘Delicate little Emet-Selch’ indeed!” His mirth finally dies away and he sighs. “You are not what you once were, that is true, but you are not any less for being changed. Scars, whether they be inside or out, do not detract from your worth.” That elbow again knocks against Hades’s ribs. “Now tell me, new-old friend: why did you <em> really </em>come here today?”</p>
<p>“I…” He suddenly turns to face the shade directly, meeting the warm gaze beyond that white mask. “I came to say goodbye.”</p>
<p>Hythlodaeus tilts his head. “Of course you did. Ever-transparent, even now!”</p>
<p>Hades gapes at him. “You - you knew?” He frowns. “Why did you lead me on that wandering path of questions if you knew from the start?”</p>
<p>“Why not? You needed to hear it.” The shade gestures out across the city spread out before them before leaning back, propping himself up on his arms as he begins to playfully kick his feet beneath his robes. “So - there she is. Say farewell.”</p>
<p>Hades gapes at him as every word deserts his head. Say farewell to the <em> city</em>? Ridiculous - preposterous - “I meant saying goodbye to you!”</p>
<p>“Ah, well - there is little difference there. Consider me a speaker for Amaurot if you would not face the buildings directly.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps it would have been simpler to demolish the place,” Hades growls, leaning forward again to grasp one hand with the other. “It would at least keep me from this foolishness.” He sighs and slumps to one side, feeling more than a little silly for what he intends to do, but as he opens his mouth to voice his final farewell Hythlodaeus cuts him off.</p>
<p>“I’ve changed my mind: I don’t want to hear it. A goodbye from you will be prolonged, painful, and may very well bore me to tears. Tell me instead - why are you avoiding your better half?”</p>
<p>“I made you too realistic,” he mutters darkly.</p>
<p>“Must be that masochistic streak in you.”</p>
<p>Hades closes his eyes. Pushing aside his indignation at his friend’s nagging, he focuses instead on his hero and the distance he has kept from her over the past few days. Emotions of a different sort churn and bubble through his torso and he grimaces against the all-too-familiar regret that floats to the surface. “It was a fluke that I lived while Elidibus and Lahabrea did not. Through no fault of their own they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I was in the right one. Nothing I have done has earned me this staying of like punishment.”</p>
<p>Hythlodaeus makes a series of disappointed clicking sounds with his tongue. “<em>Really</em>, my friend - I would have thought this was more obvious. Did you not seek out the Scions? Did you not travel with them, aid them, and even save one member’s life?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but -”</p>
<p>“Though your intentions were not noble, your method allowed for different opportunities. Had you challenged the Warrior of Light upon her arrival to Norvrandt I suspect events would have unfolded with a great deal more death.” Hythlodaeus is unusually serious. “You earned the right to this second chance, my friend. Do not throw it away out of guilt.”</p>
<p>Though he cannot deny the truth in his friend’s words, he cannot easily accept them, either. “You must understand why this is difficult for me.”</p>
<p>“Of course. I have yet to meet a survivor who is not riddled with guilt and regret - a survivor who won’t ask, ‘Why me? Why not my equally-capable friends?’” Hythlodaeus rests a hand against Hades’s back. “The world moves in ways we cannot always determine. You lived. Is it imperative that you know why?”</p>
<p>“I am a man of science.”</p>
<p>“You are a man who should be accustomed to disappointment.” He claps Hades’s back before popping to his feet. “<em>You lived</em>. I am grateful for that.”</p>
<p>Hades's temper finally snaps. “And if I am not?” he demands loudly.</p>
<p>A finger flicks him in the back of the head and he spins around, ready to demand a sliver of respect - </p>
<p>Only to find himself staring at his Warrior of Light and Darkness.</p>
<p>“Ah,” he says, eyes darting between her and the quickly retreating shade as he rubs his head. “That’s rather devious, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>“Blame him,” she says, resting her weight on her back foot as she crosses her arms. Most of her wounds have healed, though there are still a few traces of pink, raw patches on her forearms from Elidibus’s bursts of fire. He notes her simple sleeveless shirt, tight trousers, and knee-high boots in quick succession before meeting her sombre gaze. “He thought of it.”</p>
<p>“He would.” Hades’s stomach flips as he stares at her, as he takes in every morsel he has avoided for the past few days, and a new type of guilt worms its way in as he rises to stand in front of her. “I apologize for avoiding you. You did not deserve that.”</p>
<p>“No,” she agrees, shifting her head back to flip her hair over her shoulder. “But I knew you had to have a reason. I had hoped it wasn’t an asinine one, but...” She holds up a hand to stop his protests. “There is a difference between deserving and desiring. Do you <em> desire </em> to live?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he breathes. “With everything I am.”</p>
<p>“And the memories? The reminders?”</p>
<p>“They - they are a part of me,” he replies hesitantly. “I do not know that I will ever be free of them.”</p>
<p>“Neither do I,” she admits, and as hard as it is to hear that admission her crooked smile takes some of the edge off. “But you can guarantee I will do everything I can to help.” Her smile fades. “I saved the man I love because I recognized something in him had become twisted by a power beyond his control. I chose to give that man the chance for atonement - for reconciliation, whatever that might look like - and I stand by that choice. Even as I watch him struggle to bridge the gap between lives led and this world as it is, I stand by that choice.”</p>
<p>“Even if I do not deserve the chance?”</p>
<p>“Life isn’t fair, Hades,” she says, taking a step towards him. “What you, Elidibus, and Lahabrea went through was not fair; what the Source and every Rejoined shard endured was not fair! And yet you live, where others have died, because you stood across from <em> me </em>atop Amaurot.”</p>
<p>“A fluke.”</p>
<p>“A fluke,” she agrees. “Or fate. Whatever the force guiding us, you lived.” She reaches into a back pocket before holding out her hand between them. Resting in the delicate crook of her open palm is a bright amber stone. “Tell me why you made this.”</p>
<p>Hades blinks at the small surprise in her hand. He’d believed she’d given all of the stones to Elidibus; that she kept hers has enormous ramifications for her potential - for her old memories - for - </p>
<p>“Hades.”</p>
<p>He licks dry lips. “I had hope.” Once upon a time, very long ago, back before he knew how high the cost of restoration could be. Before he sunk into depression and misery. Before he became -</p>
<p>“Yet you never used it.”</p>
<p>He looks away. Shame twists his face even as it curdles his insides - but he owes her this. After everything she has done, everything she has given him, he owes her this. “I - I was not the same. I was not the Hades you’d known and loved, but something darker. Something <em> fouler</em>.” Dark power pools in his hands as he holds them up, allowing the painless purple flames to flicker over his pale skin. “I could not allow you to see me as I was.”</p>
<p>She mirrors him as bright aether dances around her fingers and wrists - and then reaches across the space between them. He takes her hands in his without hesitation, grasping like a starving man might reach for bread as the dark and light flames flicker and mingle across his pale hands and her darker ones.</p>
<p>“I see you now,” she whispers, her dark eyes unusually bright. She suddenly grins. “I like what I see.”</p>
<p>“Flatterer,” he murmurs, but the moment of levity passes as he gazes at their flickering hands. “I won’t be what I once was.”</p>
<p>“Neither will I.” </p>
<p>“I can’t promise you stability.”</p>
<p>“I prefer the unpredictable.”</p>
<p>“This isn’t the end. With the Sundered and Garlemald still threatening the Source, you know -”</p>
<p>She lets go to hold one finger against his lips. “I know. I <em> know</em>, Hades. I knew all of this months ago, and still - <em> still </em>- I choose you.” She drops her hand to take up his again even as she shakes her head, a glimmer in her eyes that makes him want to cry and laugh and kiss her, all at once. “Whatever comes, we do this together.” The aether fades from around their hands and she tilts her head to one side. Some of the seriousness leaves her as she moves them back to lighter, easier conversation. “We’ve been invited to a dinner, oh lover of mine.”</p>
<p>“A dinner,” he repeats. He can’t be sure why a meal might worry him, but anxious butterflies flit around his insides at her teasing tone.</p>
<p>“In Eulmore, with the Scions and the Chais and everyone else. One last farewell before we bring our friends home.”</p>
<p>Hades’s mind flashes back to the last fancy dinner he attended - a chilly, reserved evening in Ishgard - and his anxious butterflies suddenly mutate into giant, panicking moths. “Without me, surely. They would not want one such as I to sit at the table with -”</p>
<p>“<em>Together</em>, Hades.” Her tone remains unconvincingly innocent. “How bad can it possibly be?”</p>
<p>Before he can delve into all of the possible variations of boredom, awkwardness, and inappropriate behaviour he can imagine, a loud groan from behind one of the terrace columns makes them both jump.</p>
<p>“Are you going to kiss or aren’t you?!”</p>
<p>“Wholly inappropriate,” Hades murmurs as he glares in the direction of his new-old friend’s voice, but he doesn’t resist when his hero pulls his torso against hers and wraps her arms around his back. He does the same to her, enjoying the warmth of her pressed against his front as his hands whisper up her dark arms. “Misreading the mood entirely -“</p>
<p>The rest of his nonsense is lost as his hero dips him backwards and plants her lips against his. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Probably a good thing they're heading back to the Source, because if I could write chapter after chapter of Hyth + WoL hijinks oh boy would I</p>
<p>Thank you for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. As Comes Light, So Comes Darkness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Smoke and soot and flame, clogging and suffocating and blinding, enclosing on all sides as buildings collapse, as roads topple, as screams and roars and pleading - so much pleading! - echo and amplify the horror around him. He’s inside a building but the walls are falling around him; the ceiling is caving in; the foundations are shaking; smoke is rolling across the hallways and he’s dropped to his stomach, following the pair of boots ahead of him crawling towards safety -  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Explosions below him, above him, around him - whether magic or tech, the air thunders with the sound of it as the building begins to tilt.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Not enough time. Not enough room. Not enough air. He’s going to be smothered; he’s never going to make it to the rest of the Convocation; he’s going to - </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Blue. Cooling, calming, all-encompassing blue. The horror is pushed back, barricaded by a bubble of aether that gives him back his breath, removes the scalding flames, sets him on his feet -  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Stay,” says a voice he knows. “Stay here.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> Stay? He looks at the little, powerful bubble; he can see the building collapsing on the other side, but it seems - </em> <b> <em>less</em></b><em>, somehow. Fuzzy and disjointed, like a painting half-finished or a memory out of focus -  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> A memory… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Breathe, Hades. Just breathe.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Lowering himself to the floor of the bubble, Emet-Selch crosses his legs underneath him and rests his hands on his knees. Closing his eyes to the blue aether and the horror beyond it, he focuses on the voice’s echo and waits for it to return. </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Hades?”</p>
<p>He opens his eyes.</p>
<p>They sit cross-legged on a beach, not far from the gently-lapping surf. Music and laughter drifts to them even here, carried by the gentle ocean breeze; he has a sense of the crowds and revelry at his back, but in front of him is a dark, endless ocean below a starry night sky.</p>
<p>An explosion above him has him cringing - but as he raises a hand to block the sudden burst of neon light, the colourful tail of a firework brightens the entire horizon. It’s followed by another - and another - as cheers rise from the nearby crowd.</p>
<p>Hades grits his teeth and breathes hard through his nose. Costa del Sol. Moonfire Faire. What had been intended to be a simple night on the Source before they return to Eulmore for one final dinner.</p>
<p>“We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready,” his hero says, her hand against his arm.</p>
<p>“That - that was you, I take it?” His voice is rough; another burst of light throws bright colours against his eyelids as he attempts to block out the thunder of sound that accompanies it. “The blue aether?”</p>
<p>“I cannot stop them before they start, but I can do my best to shorten them.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” He opens his eyes and turns his head. She’s wearing a ridiculous wide-brimmed straw hat, but her dark eyes are as serious as they’ve ever been. Managing a small, wobbly smile, he ducks below the brim to peck a quick kiss against her cheek. “We can stay, if you’d prefer -”</p>
<p>“I really wouldn’t,” she says, before leaning in conspiratively. “I have to show up at these things, you know - being the Warrior of Light, and all. You can only throw so many fireworks and jump through so many puzzles before you begin to tire of it - and that’s to say nothing of the sand!”</p>
<p>He looks away from her to his bare feet, and deliberately curls his toes into the beach beneath them. “<em>This </em> I do not mind, to be honest.”</p>
<p>“That’s because you’ve never had to wash sand out of your -”</p>
<p>An enormous firework completely blocks out her muttered words, but Hades has a good enough idea and grins at her. “Homeward bound?”</p>
<p>“Please.” She hooks her arm around his and closes her eyes. Faint, colourless aether swirls first around her and then around him, and he allows his self to be carried across continents to her small cottage in Shirogane. A burst of fireworks has him flinching again, but she grabs his hand and pulls him within.</p>
<p>“Judging by how time’s moving between the shards, we should have a chance for a few hours rest before we need to make our way to Norvrandt for dinner.” The Warrior tosses her hat atop a retainer’s bell near the door and moves to the stairs, barely sparing a glance for the warmly-lit hallway. “That means <em> sleep</em>, Hades.”</p>
<p>“I am well aware,” he comments, following at her heels with growing curiosity. He has visited her cottage before, but she’s never led him to the basement. Her personal bedroom - what might it look like? What would his playful, commanding, experimental hero’s personal chambers be decorated with? Growing excited despite himself, he comes around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, spares a cursory glance for the empty, deserted first room, and follows her past a sliding door - only to halt completely. </p>
<p>“Don’t,” she says, seeing the look on his face even as she moves deeper within her bedroom. “Don’t judge.”</p>
<p>“Is that a bed?” he asks, staring at the enormous green monstrosity taking up most of the room. A wooden canopy covers it like a strange forest clamshell; the bed itself is rounded and ridiculously overstuffed. “How did you even get it down the stairs?”</p>
<p>“I made it,” she says defensively. “If you’d rather sleep on the couch -”</p>
<p>“No, no!” Moving past the garish circle of comfort, Hades turns his attention to the rest of her room. While he had half-expected walls of whips and handcuffs, he knows her better than that, and what greets him instead is less a surprise than the bed had been. Paintings of her friends cover every wall, overlapping and crooked and pinned directly into the deep red wallpaper. Some faces he recognizes - the Scions are repeated numerous times by a variety of artists - but others he doesn’t: a blonde-haired woman in red, a sombre woman with a fan in one hand and a spider lily in her hair, a tiny chocobo wearing Ironworks colours, a blue-haired Elezen with steaming mugs in both hands - </p>
<p>Tearing his eyes from the walls, he looks to the rest of the decor. Warm colours; flowers; books and books and books; crafting materials and potions; a half-finished scarf with yarn balls tumbled across the floor; a collection of stuffed creatures ranging from porxies to a strange, rounded snake creature; every piece is comfortable, welcoming, <em> safe</em>.</p>
<p>Drawing on a touch of aether, he conjures the small painting of the two of them she’d commissioned from Alphinaud months earlier and hangs it from a spare nail in the wall. He moves back just as she steps towards him to wrap her arm around his side. </p>
<p>“The founder of Garlemald upon my wall,” she teases, her voice light as she tilts her head to look up at him. “Right where he belongs.”</p>
<p>“Upon your wall, at your side, on his knees…” He hugs her back, enjoying the glimmer in her dark eyes. “Wherever you like him best.”</p>
<p>“Tonight I like him best <em> asleep</em>,” she snorts, pulling away as she slaps his ass. “We’ll have time enough for that after dinner.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” he says, but he keeps his grin to himself even as he climbs atop the ridiculous bed.</p>
<p>After dinner - </p>
<p><em> During </em>dinner - </p>
<p>Mayhap he has finally found the perfect time to finally unveil his little, mechanical gift.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Time is again moving in slippery, mysterious ways between the Source and the First: though they don’t sleep more than five hours, by the time they teleport to the Crystarium it is already almost dinner on the next day. Canceling their intended plans to wander the Empty, they instead return to the Warrior’s rented rooms in the Pendants. Hades has no difficulty changing into one of the many tailored suits he’s managed to acquire, but his hero sets about demolishing most of her wardrobe as clothes quickly begin to pile up over the floor. She wears nothing but one of his oversized shirts as she tosses dress after dress behind her; were they not already late to their dinner he’d have strapped her to the bed the moment he glimpsed that oh-so-enticing upper thigh. Alas for social engagements delaying his hungry gaze...</p>
<p>“Too bright - too sombre - we’re <em> celebrating </em>the Exarch’s life, not mourning him! Too revealing. Too…” She holds up a neon pink maid’s outfit and arches an eyebrow. “Not today, I think.”</p>
<p>“Gods have mercy on me,” Hades mutters, lifting his book to hide his face. He sits at the kitchen table, one knee crossed over the other as he attempts to make his way through one of the many historical texts he’d borrowed.</p>
<p>“Mayhap Y’shtola has something I can borrow…”</p>
<p>Hades clears his throat. As her attention turns to him, he looks at her over the frame of his reading glasses and slowly holds up a hand. Dangling from one extended finger is what appears to be no more than a scrap of black cloth - little more than a square of a material - but her eyes narrow suspiciously as he wiggles his finger. “I have a suggestion.”</p>
<p>“You cannot mean that alone.”</p>
<p>He snorts and looks back to his book. “I have more self-control than that, thank you. A beginning layer, if you will.”</p>
<p>He hears her move closer as he attempts to focus on his book; her hand darts across the table to snatch the undergarments quick as lightning. Hades flips a page - though he has no idea the content of the last two paragraphs his glazed gaze strayed across - and when he finally looks up she is wearing the simple, unadorned piece twixt her thighs.</p>
<p>“If this is all it takes to please you I wish you’d told me sooner,” she mutters, turning back to the piles of clothing.</p>
<p>He clicks his tongue against his teeth as he raises his left hand almost lazily; she sees the plain, silver ring a moment before he taps a small button along the side.</p>
<p>“Oh - <em>gods</em> - !”</p>
<p>Hades bursts out laughing at the look on his hero’s face. Her hands fly between her legs as her new piece of clothing begins to simply - and persistently - vibrate. He taps the button again and she drops to the floor like a marionette with cut strings.</p>
<p>“You’ll wear that to dinner,” he says, flipping another page in his book. “Understood?” When she doesn’t immediately respond he triggers it again.</p>
<p>“Ah! Damn - I understand, I understand!”</p>
<p>“Good.” He waits a moment - two moments - and then finally turns it off. “Would you believe I’m suddenly looking forward to this evening?”</p>
<p>Her reply is muttered low enough that he can pretend he doesn’t hear it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Eulmore’s party proves surprisingly entertaining, without even considering Hades’s own private addition. Revelry has set the entire town alight: energy and laughter and bright, bubbly music sweep him up into an evening of good cheer. The Scions are everywhere, conversing with friends and strangers alike, and the Warrior of Light and Darkness is in constant movement: whether greeting old friends or dancing across the crowded ballroom on the top floor of the city, she is bright with energy. </p>
<p>It is, no doubt, easy enough to believe her flushed cheeks are the result of all the dancing.</p>
<p>He doesn’t keep the ring active all the time. Whenever her glance becomes too desperate - or the teenagers move anywhere near her - he gives her a slight reprieve. This is to be her last big celebration on the First, after all, and he does not want to render her too distracted to enjoy it.</p>
<p>As a blue-haired Miqo’te moves her onto the floor for a dance Hades leans against the wall, arms crossed as he watches her laugh at something the stranger says. She’d settled on a blue dress nearly the same colour as the Crystal Tower, with her shoulders bare and an enticing slit up one thigh; her hair is styled in an elaborate coif that Hades will inevitably untangle and run his fingers through. She is gorgeous, captivating, full of life and laughter and heart - </p>
<p>Hades cannot wait for what comes after.</p>
<p>He is entertaining ideas for what he might do to her - ribbons or ropes? Blindfold or gag? - when Thancred comes to rest beside him. Hades only arches an eyebrow as the gunbreaker crosses one ankle over the other and tilts his head to one side; together they stand in companionable silence as they watch the others dance and laugh and eat.</p>
<p>“You talked to her.” Thancred’s voice is just loud enough to hear over the cacophony of sound.</p>
<p>“She made it rather impossible not to.”</p>
<p>“She would.” Thancred’s head turns, and Hades follows his gaze to the strange pair of girls seated at the edge of the room. Ryne is talking endlessly, her hands on her knees as her face fairly glows with excitement, while Gaia sits with her arms across her chest and her eyes on the ceiling above her. “You’ll take care of them?”</p>
<p>“As if they were my own.”</p>
<p>Thancred looks flustered at that. “She isn’t <em> mine</em>, she’s -” He clenches his jaw as he realizes he’s risen to Hades’s bait. “Thank you. For what it’s worth.”</p>
<p>Hades inclines his head and looks back in time to watch the blue-haired Miqo’te dip the Warrior back; it is not a smooth movement, but her laughter bubbles over any awkwardness the man might have had. “You’re ready to head home?”</p>
<p>“Gods, yes. Not that I won’t miss this world, but Eorzea has my heart.” He pauses. “And my body, come to think of it.”</p>
<p>“A powerful lure, indeed.”</p>
<p>Thancred snorts. “And you? Are you not eager for home?”</p>
<p>“Home…?” Hades hunches his shoulders and closes his eyes. Eorzea, home? Or Shirogane, where her cottage is? Limsa Lominsa, where her story began? Or off the coast of La Noscea - beneath fulms and fulms of water, mangled beneath land torn by Calamities, to whatever remains of the true ruins of Amaurot? The Warrior’s dark, wonderful eyes happen to catch his as he opens them; he slides his thumb over the button on his ring and watches her smile take on a feral hint. “I suppose I am.”</p>
<p>The Warrior finishes her dance with the Miqo’te and bows low; when she stands upright her eyes again seek out Hades’s - there is a manic glint to them, an energy that has Hades holding his breath - but she turns and moves to the elevator without hesitation.</p>
<p>“Did our Warrior just leave?” Thancred asks, pushing himself away from the wall. “Do you think she’s alright?”</p>
<p>Hades holds out a hand to stop him. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry.” His sleepy, half-lidded smile has Thancred taking a few steps back. “Spend some time with Ryne. I will discover what my hero is up to.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, he slowly makes his way across the room, gliding through crowds of mortals and rows of dinner tables until he reaches the elevator. A soldier accompanies him down to the Canopy; it is strangely quiet - nearly deserted with most of the citizenry taking part in the festivities one floor up. Hades tilts his head to the few soldiers he passes, but he knows at a glance that his hero kept moving.</p>
<p>That glint of soul - that flicker he knows - </p>
<p>Further. Downwards.</p>
<p>Whistling a meaningless, jaunty tune, Hades meanders down the long, spiraling stairs. Warm lanterns light the enclosed space in a cozy orange glow, a sharp change from the star-blanketed night sky he glimpses out the windows; he is so enraptured by the view that he almost misses the gateway into the Mainstay.</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>Still with his hands in his pockets, Hades steps into the deep red room. Three stories expand below him on ringed levels, each of which is lined with illuminated storage rooms holding crates and supplies. One lone soldier is stationed at the top of the room; he nods to Hades as he enters.</p>
<p>“Looking for the lass that just came through?” he asks, jerking his head over the side of the floor. “Went downwards. Looked mighty flustered, if I’m one to judge.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Hades murmurs, and begins his slow, gradual journey around the ring of stairs and landings towards the bottom floor. His whistle echoes around the room, accompanying his crisp footsteps reverberating back to him.</p>
<p>It isn’t difficult to find her. On the bottom level of the Mainstay a single barred gate hangs open, allowing a sliver more light to stretch across the stone floor, and as Hades stops whistling he can just make out the low sound of her hurried, breathless panting.</p>
<p>“My dear,” he murmurs, sliding into the barely-open gate. “You <em> are </em> in a state, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>His hero sits on the ground next to a collection of crates, her back against the wall and her legs spread to either side; with the cut of her dress it is easy to take in her long, bare legs and that sliver of black, vibrating cloth between her thighs. Her face is flushed and her eyes - </p>
<p>Anger. Lust. A heat that Hades wants to answer.</p>
<p>“Either turn the damn thing off or do something about it,” she growls. Her hands clench and unclench even as her legs begin to shiver; she bites her lip and closes her eyes as her entire body tenses. “Gods - <em>please</em> - !”</p>
<p>“Whatever would you have me do?” he asks, his innocent tone making her dark eyes fly open. He closes the gate with a gentle click, but instead of moving towards her he walks to the opposite wall. He leans against it, his hands in his pockets, and takes in the view. “Tell me what you think of this latest toy.”</p>
<p>“I may strangle you with it,” she growls through gritted teeth. “Tell me you made a second pair for yourself.”</p>
<p>“I could,” he admits, “If I’m satisfied with this prototype.” He cocks his head far to one side, allowing his sleepy-eyed smile to tilt one corner of his mouth even as she rests her head back against the wall. “What is it you want, hero? Right now, in this moment?”</p>
<p>Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Touch. Please, Emet-Selch - just touch.”</p>
<p>“She remembers,” he murmurs. He knows what she wants, but this is not going to go as she expects it to. He hits the button on his ring, halting the vibrations completely, and she whines as every sensation stops. “Pull them to one side.”</p>
<p>With a shaking hand she reaches between her thighs to snag a finger around her soaked undergarments; she pulls them crooked, revealing her dripping folds to the cool air, and Hades arches an eyebrow as she looks at him expectantly.</p>
<p>A phantom, magical tongue licks at her folds - bottom to top, and then top to bottom - and she clamps her free hand over her mouth as her eyes open wide. Hades only grins as that phantom tongue is joined by phantom lips, as they alternate kissing and licking - testing and tasting and teasing as her thighs begin to shake. He stays where he is, watching her struggle to maintain her composure even as his body reacts to the sight in front of him. </p>
<p><em> His </em> hero, <em> his </em> Warrior, <em> his </em> long-lost love -</p>
<p>His home, no matter the time and place. </p>
<p>“Come for me, hero,” he croons. “Come for me and then you’ll have the touch you so desire.”</p>
<p>Her muffled moans become sharp intakes of breath as those dark, heated eyes meet his. She watches him remove his coat, watches him meticulously roll his sleeves up to his elbows, watches him run a hand through his hair -</p>
<p>He licks his lips just as the phantom mouth sucks on her clit, and watches with a grin as her eyes roll back. Her toes curl as her thighs slam together; the muffled sounds of her struggling not to cry out are almost more enticing than if she could raise her voice. </p>
<p>He’d considered letting it end there. The rest could wait until later - when she could be loud, when he could order, when all his tools and toys are ready at hand - but the sounds she makes, the sight of her flushed skin, the smell…!</p>
<p>She has barely begun to get her breath back before Hades pulls her to her feet. There is a moment of resistance - a moment where her training takes over and she attempts to fight back - but Hades grabs both of her wrists and spins her around, pinning her hands against her back with magic so he can force her chest down against one of the crates beside them. </p>
<p>“Stay,” he orders, taking his hands off her so he can undo his belt, his buttons, his zipper - </p>
<p>“Emet-Selch, Emet-Selch, Emet-Selch,” she mutters, twisting her head to one side even as she raises her ass up on her toes, slightly curving her back as waits for him. “Please be good - please be nice -"</p>
<p>“I’m never <em> nice</em>, my dear.” He doesn’t bother to remove his trousers, simply shifting them out of the way as he takes his cock in hand and steps up behind her. He rubs the head against her silken wet skin, watching her entire body tense as her bound hand stretch - reaching - <em> wanting </em> - “You promise to be quiet?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she gasps, bouncing slightly in an attempt to back up onto him. “Yes, I promise!”</p>
<p>“Good girl,” he whispers, and then slides inside her. There is the initial moment of pleasure - of finally having what he wants, finally being where he wants, finally taking her as his after days without her - and then he wraps his hands around her wrists as he begins fucking her in earnest. </p>
<p>“The Warrior of Light once came to me with a proposition,” he croons, his hands tight on her skin as he thrusts into her. She gasps with every full hilt, her eyes wide at the sensation, but she listens, too. “A distraction for the both of us - a way for two lonely, powerful souls to find some sliver of companionship as they vie for the future of this star.” He leans over her, slowing his pace as he whispers in her ear, “I wonder if she took on more than she could handle.”</p>
<p>Her dark eyes meet his as he stands upright; though she is flushed and sweating, her gaze is still direct. “An Ascian of Zodiark once attempted to parley with me,” she murmurs, her voice steady even as her entire body rocks with the force of his thrusts. “An attempt at understanding - a recognition and admission of the power held by the soul across from his, even if he did not recognize what exactly that soul contained.” She bares her teeth. “I wonder if he took on more than he could handle.”</p>
<p>He stops thrusting and pulls hard on her arms, dragging her up so her back is against his chest. He nibbles at her neck, feeling her tighten and clench around his cock even as his teeth nip at her skin. One hand tightens around her breast, still barred by the cloth of her dress, as the other slides up her neck to hold her in place. Slowly he resumes his thrusts, but gentler - longer - more a tease than the determined motions he’d made moments earlier. “He did,” he admits, and it gives him a thrill to say it. “He never expected to find his heart here, so far removed from where he saw her last.” His hands whisper against her skin, delighting in the feel of her even as his heart sings with the knowledge that she is his, as he is hers, as they’ve always been - since the very beginning, since life before the end -</p>
<p>Before he knew the man he’d become. </p>
<p>“Warrior of Light and Darkness,” he murmurs, drawing the words out as if tasting them on his tongue, and he slowly lowers her onto the crate, bending her over it as he releases the bindings on her wrists so that he may press his hands overtop hers. She angles her head back and up, meeting his eyes as he leans over her to slowly - slowly - slowly finish what he started. “I love you.”</p>
<p>A hint of a smile brightens her dark eyes even as she squeezes hard around his cock. He gasps and shudders to a stop, panting as she sticks out her tongue in a taunting grin. “I love you, too.” Closing her eyes, she bounces back hard against his thighs, impaling herself right to the hilt over, and over, and over. “Now finish this, Ascian, so I can return to the dance.”</p>
<p>“As my lady commands,” he murmurs, meeting her on her next bounce with enough force to make her gasp. He releases one hand to allow her to cover her mouth with it, and grins as her eyes flutter shut when he begins to roll his hips in long, forceful thrusts. She is wet enough that the sounds that fill this small space are undeniably indecent; added with her small, muffled moans and his own low, coaxing murmurs it renders this soundscape obvious - any passerby could discern what is happening and who it is happening to - and that added risk, that small measure of danger, only spurs him to thrust harder. </p>
<p>“I’m - I’m going to -"</p>
<p>“Do it,” he purrs. He quickens his pace as liquid heat slides through his abdomen, as excitement curls his toes and catches his breath in his lungs. “Do it, hero. I want to feel it.”</p>
<p>“Gods - yes - !” Her teeth clamp onto the flesh of her hand as her body begins to shudder - as her other hand digs into the wooden crate, as her knees bend to kick her feet, as everything tenses -</p>
<p>Feeling her tighten and pulse around him, Hades holds on for a few more strokes, riding her up and through her pleasure, before he gives in and follows her. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Hades wakes slowly. Whether very late or very early, the room in the Pendants is still dark. He’s exhausted enough that he should have slept the night through; he cannot immediately discern what might have woken him -</p>
<p>He shifts an arm and hears the gentle <em> clink </em> of chain. </p>
<p>Stillness. Silence. His own, quickening breathing. </p>
<p>He shifts his other wrist. Again, that <em> clink</em>. His wrists are bound over his head; leather manacles wrap around his skin while something far stronger chains him to the bed. Twitches of his legs confirm his suspicions: he lies on his back, limbs bound above and below like an X marking a map.</p>
<p>His cock twitches. He begins to pant, eyes straining against the darkness of the room. How…?</p>
<p>A gentle orb of light slowly manifests not far from the bed. He blinks against its brightness; it takes him a few blurry, confused moments to see past this light source to the hand that conjured it. </p>
<p>She sits in one of the kitchen chairs - no, <em> sits </em> is far too innocent a word. One leg rests over an armrest as the other stretches out in front of her; her thick thighs are stretched wide, funneling his gaze directly to the leather harness around her hips and ass, and the long, dark cock that protrudes from it. One hand lazily strokes her already-slick cock; the other holds the little orb of light.</p>
<p>Hades’s own cock is already full-mast, stretching above his stomach as he quivers with anticipation. He licks dry lips as he tenses against the ties that bind; it takes him a long, long minute to pull his eyes from the lazy, indecent movements of her hand to finally look at her face.</p>
<p>Her dark eyes - warming, alluring, <em>hungry</em> - are waiting for him. A slow, feral grin shows her teeth as she arches an eyebrow. </p>
<p>“My turn.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hades cannot shift the worry out of his gut, even when his surroundings are the picture of bliss: a blue sky stretches from coast to coast, birdsong covers the gentle murmur of nearby voices, and a cool, gentle breeze brings just enough relief from the steady warmth of the sun high above. He stands atop a grassy cliff bounded on three sides by light forest; the cliff itself drops down to a sandy beach a few yalms below that stretches far to the east. A collection of magitek terminals and screens clutter the cliff; most of the Ironworks engineers wait along the sand below, having no room to move between all of the tech - </p>
<p>And having no desire to come anywhere near Hades’s scowl.</p>
<p>“You are truly sending her alone?” he asks for what might very well be the fifth time in an hour.</p>
<p>Cid rolls his eyes. “What’s that saying healers have? ‘There’s no place for doubt in the healing room’?”</p>
<p>“If I wanted to be a healer my life would have taken a very different path,” Hades grumbles, crossing his arms as he moves to the edge of a grassy cliff. Beyond the beach water stretches for fulms and fulms - right over the horizon, as far as the eye can see. “I could be out there! I can most definitely help!”</p>
<p>“Aye, but I want to see this.”</p>
<p>Hades pinches the bridge of his nose and hopes for patience. With Cid beside him, and Gaius somewhere on the beach with the rest of the Ironworks team, this will not be the calming day he desires.</p>
<p>A burst of sound suddenly has them pulling back; water sprays up the both the beach and the cliff in a giant wave, sending them ducking for cover as a giant mech zooms past.</p>
<p>“Away from us!” Cid shouts into his linkpearl. “Thal’s balls, woman! If you ruin my magitek -”</p>
<p>Hades catches sight of his hero through the cockpit glass; giant goggles hide her eyes, but he can see her grin even from land. </p>
<p>“Practice rounds,” the engineer mutters, his good mood somewhat dampened by the spray of salt-water that has soaked through his jacket and pants. “To give her a bit of a warm-up.” He turns around to hollar below him, “Launch!”</p>
<p>Even knowing it is operated by friendly hands, watching the strange magitek testing device move out to sea has Hades’s stomach in knots. His hero’s a healer! A fighter with staff and aether! She is not a pilot, or an engineer, or even a marksman! How is she to…</p>
<p>As the first engagement blasts across the water, each volley sending waves of sound and energy cascading across the open sea, Hades’s fear quickly evaporates. He’d never seen this magitek in operation in Allagan times - he’d been off the battlefield for nearly a century by the time such a thing was invented - but it is a work of art: withstanding heavy blows, capable of self-repair, and armed with a wide arsenal of guns and grenades in addition to its blade of energy, it is clearly the Ironworks’ new favoured tool of destruction.</p>
<p>That his hero handles it beautifully only adds to its charm.</p>
<p>“Did you say you possess the blueprints for this mech?” Hades asks as casually as he can, watching the Warrior obliterate a series of test grenades. </p>
<p>“We did.” Cid narrows his eyes. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Might I download a copy?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no - no, no, no. You? With your own mech? What could you possibly want a mech for?” Cid runs both hands through his damp hair, making it stick up on end over his goggles. “I can’t decide if this is the best idea or the worst idea.”</p>
<p>“Imagine it, Garlond - skies full of flying, piloted mechs - magitek that can finally compete with Garlemald! Magitek that can compete against <em> anything</em>! Magitek that can carry supplies long distances, that can traverse enemy lines - magitek you can deploy remotely if need be!”</p>
<p>“Jessie’s going to murder me.” Cid gnaws at his lip before he throws his hands in the air. “Godsdamned Ascian! Fine! You’ll have your blueprints - but if I don’t get to see your modifications -”</p>
<p>“<em>See </em> them? <em> See them? </em> My dear Garlond, I expect you to add your own!” Hades turns back to the sea just in time to watch the mech deploy its shield; the purple aegis blossoms around the magitek like a giant glittering diamond. He doesn’t know if this will be viable, or if the city-states will be at all interested in investing in such a strange cause, but tinkering with purpose - designing with an end-goal in mind - has him itching to put his fingers to pen and paper.</p>
<p>And if he can make a matching mech for himself - a darker partner for this white-and-blue creation - he will wholeheartedly do so.</p>
<p>“Bring it in!” Cid orders, one finger to his ear. “We’ll do some last minute maintenance and then point you towards Terncliff!” He suddenly makes a face and drops his hand before muttering, “She wants to know if she can keep it.”</p>
<p>Imagining the reactions of their neighbours should a giant Allagan mech take up residence in their front yard creates a strange, fluttering feeling in Hades’s chest; he cannot be sure if it is a shriek or a giggle. Keeping his eyes off the muttering engineer, he watches the Warrior bring her mech around in a victory loop before passing out of sight down the coast, returning to the beach where the Ironworks had landed their airships.</p>
<p>The real test is yet to come: one of Garlemald’s Weapons, another of Gaius’s children, and a fight Hades can only watch from the sidelines. After witnessing the mech’s capabilities his doubts are rather diminished, but he still cannot see a way that this will end positively for everyone. </p>
<p>He will do his best to avoid the former Legatus.</p>
<p>As he helps Cid, Biggs, and Wedge pack up the monitoring stations and terminals scattered along the grassy cliff, Hades cannot stop his mind from wandering west. For the Ironworks to do all of this takes commendable skill and talent - and he knows, with the certainty that comes from the strange and unlikely source of time travel, that they have even greater capabilities than this.</p>
<p>He waits until the other engineers have begun their trek towards the airships before approaching Cid. The man holds a datapad in each hand, comparing information with a frown, but lowers them once he notices Hades.</p>
<p>“What’s on your mind? Or would I be happier were I not to know?”</p>
<p>“Your - tinkering. Your experiments.” Hades wiggles his fingers towards the beach. “They seem to be going very well.”</p>
<p>“They do,” Cid replies slowly, clearly both curious and worried about where this conversation may lead. “And…?”</p>
<p>“You know G’raha’s history - his <em> future </em>history, really. Have you given any thought to acting on it?”</p>
<p>Cid is silent for a few moments before placing both datapads off to one side, crossing his arms over his chest, and closing his eyes. “You aren’t speaking of the tower, since we already have access to it, and you have no need for Omega’s ability to traverse the rift - which leaves one piece of that future puzzle to unravel.” He opens his eyes. “Murky waters, Ascian. Careful where you tread.”</p>
<p>“You have no desire to unlock Alexander’s technology?” Hades keeps his voice carefully neutral, though his heartbeat picks up speed as he carefully, <em> carefully </em>tiptoes through the shallows.</p>
<p>“Desire? For technology?” Cid snorts. “I’m a Garlond! Technology is what I do - it’s my team’s damn motto!” He suddenly jabs Hades’s chest with a thick finger. “But ‘freedom through technology’ doesn’t mean I go sticking my business in every mech and magitek I stumble across. I dabbled with Alexander not long ago, and that’s a power I’m not keen on meddling with twice.”</p>
<p>“But you did,” Hades says quietly. “In G’raha’s future -”</p>
<p>“G’raha’s future is <em> completely </em>different from what we’re living right now. That world endured a Calamity! Most of the land was dead or dying! If you put me in a place of complete desperation of course I’d grab whatever I can!” He spreads his arms to either side, showing off the grassy cliff and the rolling waves just under it. “This looks more than a mite away from complete desperation, doesn’t it? No sign of an apocalypse here!”</p>
<p>Hades holds his tongue. This world - Eorzea and its surrounding continents, the various shards still in existence, the very star itself - may not be in danger of ending; may very well be prospering with the removal of the last of the Unsundered -</p>
<p>But a world did end. Hades witnessed it.</p>
<p>“I know that look,” Cid grumbles. He grabs the last of his datapads and stuffs them in a bag, his expression darkening. “Far be it for me to give the one-and-only founder of Garlemald orders, but leave that damn creature alone. It’s little better than a primal - and you, I’d think, would have more experience than any of us with <em> those </em>beings.” He shrugs his bag over his shoulder, gives Hades a mocking Garlean salute, and begins his slow descent down to the beach.</p>
<p>Hades isn’t proud that he asked. He isn’t proud that his thoughts keep returning to the colossus, or that his attention has begun to drift - that the possibility pulls at him more steadily with every passing day. He has everything he needs here in this world - has hopes and dreams and a future that is his to grasp!</p>
<p>And yet…</p>
<p>If he could save Elidibus - Lahabrea - every soul on the Convocation - every soul in Amaurot - </p>
<p>If he could save the <em> world… </em></p>
<p>Ignoring the sun overhead and the birdsong filling the air, Hades follows after Cid.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“It is G’raha who holds the key to this,” Hades repeats stubbornly.</p>
<p>“I disagree,” Y’shtola states. Her milky-white eyes remain as serene as ever. “Teleporting between shards became riskier when using the tower, not safer. He failed many times before he succeeded. Whereas you -”</p>
<p>“Can teleport myself whenever I wish, but bringing another soul with me is - I’ve been told - an unpleasant sensation if the soul is not willing.” He arches an eyebrow. “Do you trust me so completely as to make that jump blindly?”</p>
<p>She sits back in her chair, tapping her knuckle against her chin, and Hades sighs. Round and round they go, yet this discussion promises to be one she will corner him with repeatedly. Allowing his head to droop to one side, he turns his attention to the teahouse around them and the people that pass them by. He had argued against visiting this place. What he had ordered done to these people was unrepairable, unacceptable, unforgivable - he should not set foot in Doma, he’d argued, until the scars had healed.</p>
<p>“So heal them yourself!” his hero had returned, and now he finds his time divided between Garlond in the Lochs and Maximus in Doma. While he is not much use in the fields - and is not yet trusted in politics - his creation magic quickens the repairs, frees up other hands for more important tasks, and has even allowed them to begin considering the problem of Doma Castle. His third eye still garners stares and unease, so he is careful to never stray far from the trusted faces of the Scions or his hero, but at least in the Enclave he has become a common enough sight that the townspeople no longer startle at his appearance.</p>
<p>This evening finds him and the Miqo’te at the Enclave teahouse, surrounded by colourful paper lanterns under a cloud-covered sky. A storm is coming - the humidity and scent of rain make that obvious enough, even without the swirling purple clouds above them - but for now the village is bright with light and laughter. Other diners sit near them, enjoying tea or sweets just as they do, while shoppers hurry by before the clouds unleash whatever comes.</p>
<p>Three running passersby in particular catch Hades’s eye: one, a black-haired Hyur naked to the waist, is followed by two young Elezen twins. Hades lost count at two dozen laps, but they are still going strong as their feet carry them around the Enclave over and over and over.</p>
<p>Or - <em> Hien and Alisaie </em> are still going strong. Poor Alphinaud lags behind, his chin bobbing against his chest as he struggles to keep up.</p>
<p>“Come, Master Alphinaud!” The lord of Doma is upbeat as he turns to run backwards, barely slowing his pace. “Only a few laps more!”</p>
<p>“Of - of course!” The boy shakes sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes even as he shoots a longing glance towards Hades, Y’shtola, and their table covered with books. “Nearly there!”</p>
<p>Hades looks back to the Miqo’te as the three run out of sight. “In time I may be able to bring certain persons to new shards, but it is not a safe solution.”</p>
<p>She stops tapping her knuckle and tilts her head. “The dragons, then?”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Hades sips at his tea to cover his surprise and discomfort - but those damn eyes keep staring, unseeing, in his direction. He grimaces. “Dragons are immortal.”</p>
<p>“I am aware.”</p>
<p>“With nearly-perfect memories.”</p>
<p>“I know that, too.”</p>
<p>He grits his teeth. “I cannot speak with dragons.”</p>
<p>She leans forward, resting her elbows on their spread of books as she cradles her chin in her hands. Her tail snaps back and forth behind her like a cat about to pounce; Hades cannot help pressing his back against his chair in an attempt to put more distance between them. “Do tell.”</p>
<p>“For the same reason our dear Exarch cannot speak with dragons,” Hades snarls, his lip curling. “Ascians and Allagans are not welcome north of Coerthas, unless you intend to calm what remains of Bahamut and Tiamat’s brood - and if they are anything like Nidhogg, I rather doubt you have the time.”</p>
<p>She sits back, disappointed. She’d clearly expected a little more detail - a little more history she could coax free - but he is as unwilling as ever to delve into <em> that </em>particular venture. Rather than persist, she taps a page on one of the open books - a page with a rough painting of the Warrior of Light. “She could serve as a go-between for us and the dragons.”</p>
<p>“If she chooses.”</p>
<p>Y’shtola inclines her head. “Of course.” She flips the page, revealing an intricate ink drawing of Alexander, and Hades averts his gaze. </p>
<p>Dragons are not the only thing he is avoiding in Dravania.</p>
<p>He tries not to think about the colossus. There is so much light and life in the world around him - and so many tasks that keep him busy - that he rarely has the time.</p>
<p>But the lights eventually go out, and his hero slumbers, and the house they share falls quiet - and if Hades is not lucky enough to fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep, his wandering thoughts take him to the Thaliak River and the mech that sits in its basin. He imagines climbing within, tinkering, taking apart what he needs to, delving into the belly of the beast to discern how he might replicate its magicks - how he might do as the Ironworks had. </p>
<p>He knows he is capable.</p>
<p>“Ah, she is finished early.”</p>
<p>Hades looks up, freeing himself from his twisting thoughts as the Warrior of Light appears from the direction of the docks. Dust and dirt smear her cheeks, and scorch marks blacken the lower ends of her jacket, but she is still in good spirits. The moment she reaches them she dumps a handful of tiny, coloured crystals into Hades’s hands; some are square, while others are jagged and impossible to easily hold.</p>
<p>“Ah,” he says, staring at the bits and baubles in his palms. “Like a child with pebbles.”</p>
<p>“Don’t lose them - Gerolt will make me scavenge another set, and if I have to see one more red chocobo I might very well go up in flames.” She drops into an empty chair and grins, though it is clear from the state of her that she’s exhausted. “Another day in the trenches. I’m quite ready for a bath.”</p>
<p>“You’re not the only one,” Hades comments lightly, watching Hien and Alisaie complete another lap around the Enclave. Alphinaud follows a good ten seconds later, his clothing soaked through and his hands flapping uselessly at his sides. “Shall we head home?”</p>
<p>“Soon,” she says, her attention already wandering to the bright, lantern-lit stalls around them. “I think - I think I’ll have…” She doesn’t finish the thought, seeming almost to drift out of her chair as the smell of fresh dumplings lures her towards a Roegadyn chef.</p>
<p>Y’shtola leans forward. “Was it her choice, or yours?”</p>
<p>“Beg pardon?” Hades matches her low, quiet tone even as he frowns; he still holds the coloured stones awkwardly between them.</p>
<p>“Was it her choice or yours to keep you away from Bozja?”</p>
<p>“Both,” he says faintly, turning in his chair to watch his hero happily select a collection of steamed buns and dumplings. He wanted to go - to be with her, to protect her, to aid her as best he can - but they knew it was too high a risk. “We are unsure how I will react on the frontlines.” </p>
<p>“I am sure she will not be there for long.”</p>
<p>He turns back to the Miqo’te. It is a surprise to hear such reassurances from her - a surprise, too, to witness a brief moment of concern wrinkle her forehead before she reverts to the unshakeable mage Hades met back in Rak’tika. “Thank you for saying so.”</p>
<p>“In any case - I must be off. I have questions to ask and far to travel before nightfall.”</p>
<p>“Questions for whom?” </p>
<p>“My mentor.” She suddenly grins, her tail snapping back and forth. “I think she’d enjoy you.”</p>
<p>“Enjoy me…?” Hades doesn’t finish his query before the Miqo’te teleports away, leaving him alone at his table with his hands full of rocks and a sinking feeling he will have no choice but to meet whoever was brave enough to take Y’shtola as an apprentice.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Hades! You have a visitor!”</p>
<p>He pauses. His hands are wrist-deep in fresh earth; his borrowed smock is water-stained and filthy. He’s fairly certain a smear of dirt darkens his brow from swiping back his too-long hair, but without a mirror at hand he can only hope he looks somewhat presentable. “Please tell me it isn’t a head of state!” he calls up the stairs, hearing his Warrior laugh from the distant doorway.</p>
<p>“Not anymore! I’ll send him down!”</p>
<p>“Not anymore…?” Hades looks to the dozens of pots, plants, and seedlings spread across his workbench. More dangle up the walls, held in place by rows of shelving and an intricate watering system he’d concocted himself. Ivy tumbles and twists across the ceiling, intermingling with a grape vine that is doing remarkably well for not growing in its native volcanic environment, and the smell of wet earth and flowers fills the small antechamber that leads into their bedroom.</p>
<p>Light footsteps on the stairs herald his guest’s arrival. With his hands still hidden by dirt and leaves, he twists his neck to catch a glimpse of a young, red-haired Miqo’te.</p>
<p>“Plants?” G’raha Tia says, bounding down the last few steps to enter the room Hades had commandeered and converted into his little area of experiments. “I had no idea you were a botanist.”</p>
<p>“You may add it to my list of titles,” Hades says dryly. “Somewhere between sorcerer and murderer shall fall the humble ‘gardener’: a worthy addition to any epitaph.”</p>
<p>“Plants I know, or your own creations?” The Miqo’te leans over a shelf full of large, purple flowers the size of his head. </p>
<p>“A little of both.” Slowly he lifts up the delicate plant between his fingers, roots and all, and maneuvers it into a larger pot. “She wanted some herbs for potions and things, and I wanted to test myself.” A few scoops of dirt holds his tiny plant in place; miniscule mint-green flowers bounce up thin stems. “This one is Igeyorhm.” Without looking he reaches beside him, to a large clay pot holding an enormous, leafy plant. Turquoise petals droop downwards between thick, vibrant leaves. “This is Emmerololth.”</p>
<p>“Are there any Emet-Selch and Azem plants among your garden?”</p>
<p>Hades smiles. “Not yet.” Brushing the dirt off his hands, he spins on his stool to face the one and only Exarch - crystalline no longer, and young once again. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”</p>
<p>G’raha hooks an ankle around a nearby stool and pulls it towards himself. He perches on top with a strangely serious expression. “How are you adjusting?”</p>
<p>A wave of panic dislodges Hades’s easy smile and sets his fingers to fumbling with the clasps on his smock; upon seeing himself fidget he crosses his arms over his chest. “Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“I would have thought that would be obvious - but mayhap I overstep.” G’raha tilts his head to one side. “You have fought for millenia to revive your people and your home, only to find the battle no longer worth the cost - or, perhaps, the prize an illusory carrot dangled by one with hidden goals. Whatever the case, your situation has changed. I cannot believe that has been easy to adapt to.”</p>
<p>“No,” Hades says quietly. “It hasn’t been.” He reaches out to the large turquoise flowers and gently runs his fingers across the delicate petals. “It is a long goodbye I am unsure will ever truly end.” He is careful to avoid the Miqo’te’s eyes as he asks, “You have never considered returning to your future world?”</p>
<p>“You speak of the world torn apart by war, famine, plague, and our own desperation? No, I have not.”</p>
<p>“Not for that,” Hades clarifies. “But for the friends you left behind.”</p>
<p>G’raha is quiet for a few moments; when he speaks his voice is low. “I think of them, yes. I wonder how they are doing, and I hope they still live, but I know that is as much as I can possibly do. I am no longer a part of that timeline, and as such its fate is out of my hands.” His voice grows even softer. “Mayhap it is selfish of me, but so long as I am unaware of the truth I am able to fabricate a world in which my distant friends prosper.”</p>
<p>“I would not call that selfish,” Hades says. “Practical, perhaps.” He drops his hand from the flower and sighs. “To answer your question: I am keeping myself busy. I am exploring Eorzea. I am trying new skills. Any day now we are to return to the First to assist Ryne and Gaia, and that will surely keep my mind on the present.” He meets the Miqo’te’s crimson gaze. “And when distractions do not prove sufficient, I am lucky enough to love a healer. She takes care of what I cannot.”</p>
<p>“We are all grateful for that,” G’raha says quietly. He smiles a small, sad smile that makes Hades’s breath catch in sickly anticipation. “But what will you do when she rejoins the Lifestream?”</p>
<p>Hades’s foot slips off the rung of his stool; he manages to catch himself, but his stomach curdles. “Don’t -”</p>
<p>“I have had a small taste of immortality. Watching those you care about grow old and die, while you remain impervious to time’s steady crawl, is not a comfortable experience.”</p>
<p>Hades spins on his stool and places his palms flat against his plant-covered table; he breathes hard through his nose as he closes his eyes, as he desperately holds to the <em> here </em> and <em> now </em> - to the table beneath his hands, to the earthy smell in the air, away from the discomfort that is <em> real </em> - that is <em> justified </em>- that he has brushed aside repeatedly -</p>
<p>But the memory of that auditorium on that day - that last, horrible day - draws him in regardless of how deep he sinks his nails into the wooden table.</p>
<p>“Why do you ask me this?” Hades demands through clenched teeth. </p>
<p>“Because it is inevitable, and I fear what you might become on the day she no longer walks among the living.”</p>
<p>“Not what I was,” he says, immediately latching on to anger instead of the misery that comes from imagining a world without his hero. “Not bound to gods and false hopes.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t think you would be,” G’raha says gently. “But you are the most powerful soul wandering the shards. If you spiral inwards and she is not here to pull you back...”</p>
<p>He wouldn’t lash out. He <em> wouldn’t</em>. He would retain control - </p>
<p>Wouldn’t he?</p>
<p>But that explosion of aether atop Syrcus Tower - that dark power that had burst from him unbidden, unleashed even as he fought to distinguish past from present - enemy from ally - what would happen were that to occur in a market? In a library? In the Rising Stones?</p>
<p>
  <em> He wouldn’t! </em>
</p>
<p>A calming, blue glow suddenly encompasses him, steadying him even as it stabilizes his thoughts and pulls him back from the ledge of memories he teeters upon. He slowly lifts his head to find G’raha standing beside him with hand outstretched. Aether bobs and drifts in the space between them - soothing, healing aether not unlike that which his hero uses - and Hades suddenly understands what exactly is being offered.</p>
<p>“I will help,” the Exarch quietly says. “When she no longer can.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Come on, Ascian! Daylight won’t last forever!”</p>
<p>Rather than hurry to catch up, Hades continues his lazy pace forward. The landscape outside of Idyllshire is rockier than he remembers it, with hidden cliffs and valleys and land that ends where he expects it least. Old magic suffuses this place just as it does Azys Lla, but in a way that is conducive to natural growth. It is a strangely comforting place to be - if one sidesteps the wildlife and beastmen that have claimed most of this jagged land, and ignores the ever-present threat of dragons. Hades would have avoided the place entirely had his hero not promised the winged creatures rarely flew beyond Avalonia Fallen, but he still keeps his attention skyward lest he find himself in sudden unpleasant company.</p>
<p>His hero is ahead of him, decked in overalls and a helmet with a magitek torch affixed to the top. She is scurrying about for rocks and shiny things; he is not needed on this venture, but Hades would not wish to be anywhere else. There is nothing that needs to be vanquished and no one who needs to be saved; for this brief time he means to simply enjoy his hero’s company. </p>
<p>It isn’t guilt-free, of course. A nagging voice in the back of his head continues to tell him he does not deserve to wander among wildflowers, or dine with friends, or sleep in his own bed beside the woman he loves - </p>
<p>He is gradually becoming more adept at ignoring that voice.</p>
<p>As his hero’s quick feet take her up over the cliffs and through the brush, Hades finds himself wandering ever closer to the Thaliak River separating two arms of land. It has been near impossible to ignore it - and the mechanical creation sitting in the basin - but as their time in Dravania grows short he gives in to the compulsion to see the colossus with his own eyes.</p>
<p>The sun has just begun to set when Hades stops at the edge of a sharp cliff directly overlooking the ruin of Alexander. A massive dome covers the majority of the mech, and though water laps at its lower body and limbs it shows no sign of rust or wear. The beginnings of a nest atop it’s distant hand provides proof that it has not stirred in quite some time: dormant or dead, Alexander is unlikely to ever again move of its own volition.</p>
<p>If the Ironworks could reverse-engineer Alexander’s technology - if Cid and Nero were capable - surely Hades, too, can do the same. Time travel would not be impossible were he to dedicate all of his attention to the pursuit of restoring this mech - with or without the minds of the Ironworks helping him.</p>
<p>Where would he go? To the future? To Elidibus and his future self, to stop them - or to join them? To give the Emissary the life he deserves, rather than the death served to him?</p>
<p>Or to the past? To the time before the end, when he sat with the best and greatest of friends? When Azem stood beside him, and Hythlodaeus was whole, and the entire world seemed open to their beck and call? When he could invent and create and enjoy the life that lay ahead of him - the seemingly-endless life he had taken for granted? When worries were small and inconsequential, and the largest creature he’d ever harmed was a fly?</p>
<p>His hero’s voice drifts to him from a distance, soft and broken by wind. “Hades? Where are you?”</p>
<p>If he took himself back - if he unlocked the means of time travel - could he prevent the Final Days? Could he determine how they began, and devise a means to undo or halt them? If he did...he could stop Zodiark from existing! He could stop the Convocation from fracturing, stop Azem from leaving, stop Hydaelyn’s creation and the Sundering of their star - </p>
<p>“Hades?”</p>
<p>He has the skill and the power. It would take days or weeks at most, and then - then - then Hades could be <em> home</em>. Really and truly <em> home </em> - and is that not what he wanted most? The return of his loved ones and the restoration of his world? The resumption of life as he led it when everything was perfect? </p>
<p>He raises his right hand above his head. Aether shifts and pulses at his call, spinning about the mech below him so quickly it disturbs the water around its base. </p>
<p>Hopes and dreams and lives that ended far too soon - gone and buried and lost, lost to time, lost to even legend, lost to every soul but him - </p>
<p>“Emet-Selch?”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em> “I have played these games before, Emet-Selch. I know what I ask - do you know what you want?” </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>What he wants? What he <em> wants…</em>? </p>
<p>His finger touches his thumb as his face twists. He doesn’t want this! He doesn’t want the pressure of <em> knowing </em> - the pressure of understanding what was lost! He alone remembers - he alone witnessed the greatest civilization in history! He alone knows the cost, and <em> gods, </em> does he hate it! Even if he went back <em> he would still know! </em> He’d remember everything he did in his pursuit of restoration: he’d remember the ugliness that resides within him, the darkness that claims his very aether, the blood on his hands -</p>
<p>And - to leave now - he’d leave <em> her</em>, this wonderful Warrior of Light and Darkness who saw straight into his soul and judged him worthy of a second chance, this sundered soul he loves like only one other - and her friends, the strange, motley crew she’s collected around her that Hades suddenly finds himself spending time with, laughing with, bonding with - </p>
<p>Hades closes his eyes. Somewhere behind him the sun is setting, descending to give its place to the moon and the stars, but he knows it is only temporary.</p>
<p>She will always make her way round to greet him again.</p>
<p>A <em> crack </em>splits the air as his fingers snap. Aether surges forward, rolling and spinning and flowing down, down, down -</p>
<p>The Warrior finds him just as Alexander begins to sink.</p>
<p>“Hero,” he says, turning to her as shivers run up and down his back. He wants to flee, to vanish, to be anywhere but here - </p>
<p>“Ascian.”</p>
<p>He falls heavily to his knees. She is too clever not to know why he did it; too smart not to realize the temptation Alexander posed; she will understand why the colossus is slowly vanishing from view. Shame, embarrassment, and regret choke his lungs - he should have been stronger. He should have told her. He should have - “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>She takes a deep breath. Her face is nearly impossible to see in the dim light of dusk; with the sun at her back she is little more than a silhouette among the bushes. She takes a slow step forward and Hades winces - but then another, and another, and - </p>
<p>“Halmarut,” she says. “Deudalaphon. Fandaniel, Emmerololth, and Altima. Mitron, Loghrif, and Pashtarot.” With every name she moves closer; with every name Hades’s heart cracks a little more. “Igeyorhm and Nabriales. Lahabrea. Elidibus.” She stops directly in front of him and her fingers whisper over his cheek. “Emet-Selch.”</p>
<p>“Azem,” he murmurs. He is desperate to understand, yet he dreads what might come next -</p>
<p>“Would you tell me about them?”</p>
<p>He gapes at her. He had expected anger and disappointment - but this…<em> this</em>…! He doesn’t remember standing, but his arms are suddenly full of this wondrous, lovely soul - his better half, his hero, his Warrior of Light and Darkness, his Traveller <em> finally </em>returned. How could he not say yes? “Of course,” he says, his voice gruff. “Whatever you wish to know.”</p>
<p>“Let’s start with something easy,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice as she turns to lead him away from the cliff. She navigates them through dark bushes, crags, and old, crumbling ruins, one hand intertwined with his, and he is only too eager to follow. With the sun nearly set it is difficult to see her; a sliver of orange light remains on the horizon, while the rest of the sky has turned a deep, comforting blue. “How Emet-Selch and Azem met.”</p>
<p>Hades takes one long, lingering look at the sky far above - the stars scattered and glittering and permanent, forever locked in time and space exactly as he remembers them - before squeezing her hand. “As good a place as any. We’ll begin this lurid tale -” She clicks her tongue against her teeth, and though he cannot see her exasperated grin he can picture it well enough. “- long, long ago, in a city called Amaurot...”</p>
<p>Walking hand-in-hand beneath a sea of familiar constellations, Hades and his hero begin their slow trek home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Much love to everyone who’s followed along (it’s been a whole <em>year?!</em>) and to everyone who’s stumbled across this! You’ve made this shy, anxiety-ridden writer comfortable enough to keep posting, and for that there are no words of gratitude I can possibly give.</p>
<p>So I’ll simply say, one last time, thank you very much for reading :)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> <em>Perfect strangers down the line<br/>Lovers out of time<br/>Memories unwind<br/>So far I still know who you are<br/>But now I wonder who I was</em></p>
<p>-Perfect, by the Smashing Pumpkins</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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